


tell all the truth (but tell it slant)

by maixela



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maixela/pseuds/maixela
Summary: "If she squinted her eyes, tilted her head, and denied reality, Jyn Erso could convince herself Cassian Andor was still in love with her."While on a mission with Cassian, Jyn has a side mission of her own - win him back. It'd be easier if the past could stay in the past.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 175
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i don't own star wars it's just a sandbox i'm playing in. title from emily dickinson. hope you like this.

If she squinted her eyes, tilted her head, and denied reality, Jyn Erso could convince herself Cassian Andor was still in love with her. He wasn’t, and deluding herself wasn’t going to change that, but it was hard to remember the new reality when she had to share close quarters with him and pretend to be his fiancée.

K-2SO was, of course, more than happy to remind her of her new place. Simple mistakes were followed by a comment of how Cassian was better off without her or how he’d finally come to his senses. His opinion of her, low before and lower now, was voiced as often as possible, occasionally just as a way to break the silence that’d stretched around the three of them. Her name had even gone from “Jyn Erso” to “Corporal Jyn Erso,” as if the double demotion alone wasn’t enough.

If he were a person, she suspected there’d be a twinkle in his eye every time he said it. As it was, there was an undeniable glee when speaking her new title, one she hadn’t knowing a droid to be capable of using. Under normal circumstances, these things would’ve driven her insane. She’d be snapping before he could begin a sentence, a plan to remove some limb or take the lights out of his visual sockets already forming in her mind. They did drive her insane, but these weren’t normal circumstances, so she didn’t let it show.

Instead, she tried to be the best damned Corporal she could possibly be, knowing full well it had nothing to do with the Alliance or reestablishing herself in it, and everything to do with trying to win back Cassian.

She was selfish, she was stubborn, and she’d done enough for the Alliance. She also knew it wasn’t working.

She’d left and now he hated her, cause and effect. Her action, his reaction. It stung, how easily he could cut her out, could act like she was nothing, had never been anything at all. She wanted to scream at him, recount every time he’d told her otherwise, even if it would be for naught. What little remained of her dignity held her back.

“The briefing will not read itself, Corporal Jyn Erso,” Kay said, destroying the silence that had settled in the small galley. Her head whipped up. When she’d sat down she’d been alone; now, Kay loomed in the doorway and Cassian stood at the counter making a cup of caf. His back was to her, face entirely hidden. How long had they been there?

“I’ve got it down,” she said, waving the datapad and its black screen. “Just testing myself.”

“Oh?” Kay stepped closer, a bird of prey starting to circle.

Jyn glared in warning. “Naboo. We steal Admiral Nural’s data on war profiteers and Imperial naval strategy our fourth day there, during the Festival of Light. First three days we schmooze and maybe find something else important.”

Kay whirred. “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “I expected far less from you.”

She grinned, all pointy teeth and barbed promises, ignoring how easily he could turn a compliment into a rude comment.

“You forgot the codes,” Cassian said, back still to her.

“Pardon?” Jyn asked, though her chest hollowed out. Draven had made it sound like that was a side mission only she was to know about.

“The shuttle codes,” Cassian repeated, voice flat. He took a sip of caf. “Or is there a reason they’re in your briefing and not in mine?”

Jyn’s hand stilled on the datapad. There were several different meanings behind his words, each a different trap he was waiting to snag her in. Suspicions he was trying to confirm, if only so he could find something to be angry about and to give Kay another reason to tell her she wasn't worthy of him. She nearly pointed out he didn't need another reason to be angry at her, that there were plenty of reasons already. At the very least, she’d been right that the codes were specifically her own side mission.

If this entire mission was going to be one trap after the next, she’d have to reevaluate her plans. Delay them, a lot. Learn to live with the sharp needle that dug into her heart just from knowing how eager he was to find another reason to hate her.

“Must’ve been a mistake.”

“Sir,” Kay said. “He’s your superior.”

She ground her teeth. He’d been annoying before Scarif, a tooka cat that only loved one person. Now he was a very vocal tooka cat that only loved one person. Plus, the last part was just rude. “Must’ve been a mistake, sir.”

“Good thing I checked your file then, Corporal,” he said, unbothered and turning towards the entryway. Unlike with Kay, it did hurt when he used her new title. He could turn the needle into a dagger quickly and never even know it. “Would’ve been quite the problem if they were forgotten.”

That part of the mission was, in fact, at the forefront of her mind, the one thing was determined to get over anything else. Except, of course, Cassian. She held up her datapad and shook it, even though he wasn’t looking at her.

“That’s why I’m testing myself,” she said. Then, before Kay could say anything, added, “Sir.”

Cassian left without another word. Kay hovered for a moment, tilting his head towards her.

“Why did your briefing include that and not Cassian’s?” he asked, but his pitch shifted, a rhetorical question he was merely saying aloud.

“Like I said, must’ve been a mistake.” She paused and eyed him. “Would you like me to call you sir as well?”

“She’s even worse now,” he groused to himself, then turned and left the galley.

Jyn sank back into her seat, feeling both bereft and exhausted, and even a bit like something left alone to die.

* * *

With three hours left to Naboo, Jyn eyed the trunk before her. It was nicer, something befitting an Imperial socialite and that had to be carried by two servants rather than her. She had to open it eventually, but doing so also meant stepping back into Ginevra Tannan’s heeled shoes.

Ginevra was Jyn’s least favorite alias. Kestrel, Tanith, and Lianna were all her with a different name. Ginevra was just different. She was dry and a little more stern than most Imperial socialites (because there were some things Jyn couldn’t fake), but she was also vain and judgmental, concerned with things Jyn had never considered, like wine vintages and dinner forks. She called people ‘darling’ and said her scars were from accidents in her childhood. She wasn’t a fighter. She wasn’t a survivor.

The part that bothered Jyn most, however, was that Ginevra’s nickname was ‘Gin.’ Draven had suggested it when they’d first formed the alias, to make it less likely for them to slip up, since ‘Gin’ was paired with Cassein. All it really did was set her on edge every time someone used the nickname.

Jyn sighed and unlocked the trunk.

If nothing else, Ginevra was a far more stable cover than the others. There were documents upon documents detailing her fake life on Coruscant; medical slips for every injury that became a scar, grades from schooling that she couldn't be bothered to care about. When they’d first used the cover, several wives recalled her from their childhoods and the stuffy parties they’d attended with their parents. Jyn had only said, “Thank you, but I’m afraid my memory isn’t as clear,” in case it was a trap.

Someone had changed out her outfits from the last time she’d used the trunk. She wasn’t surprised—Intel overall had a handful of the trunks and a surprising amount of Imperial clothes for these missions. They would’ve used the trunk on other missions and would’ve picked this wardrobe specifically for Naboo. But these outfits were a smaller size and more modest than what they usually sent.

Draven must’ve given them her medical record, or at least passed along her malnourishment and new injuries.

It made sense, of course. She couldn’t very well go on this mission with ill-fitting clothes. Imperial wives had everything tailored. The only reason they wouldn't wear something specifically fitted for them would be if they wore their husbands shirts, and even then they'd throw a robe on before entertaining an unexpected guest.

Jyn crossed her arms and tried to guess when their tailor had taken her new measurements. Probably when she passed out in the medbay.

Everything else looked familiar, though. The shoes, most heeled but several flat and practical, the small box jewelry would be set in, and the smaller box inside where Ginevra's engagement necklace sat, shaped like a teardrop and clear-sea blue—

She frowned as she opened the box, holding up the necklace that was decidedly not her engagement necklace. It was a rich purple and a little boxy, more like a flower petal than a teardrop, lines of violet stroked through it. Smooth and glossy like the blue necklace, but thicker, and when she twisted it in her hand she realized it was an actual flower petal trapped in glass.

“Where’s my blue necklace?” she called, angling her head towards the cockpit. She expected Cassian to shout his response, that it was somewhere in her trunk or possibly had been placed in his, and was mildly surprised when his shadow appeared in the doorway and he stepped into the cargo hold.

“Blue’s for engaged couples,” he said. “Purple is for married.”

Jyn frowned. “Ginevra and Cassein are engaged.”

“Not anymore,” Cassian said, looking pointedly away from her, voice sour. “I had to use the cover while you were away.”

“And you married us?”

“It slipped out,” he said dismissively. “It happens.”

It didn't to him. Cassian was too precise for a simple mistake like that. Even if he had to occasionally improvise a detail or two while undercover, lying and saying he was married wasn’t one he’d make.

“What’d you tell them?” she asked, her fingers curling around the necklace.

“That you were sick and we weren’t sure you’d make a recovery.”

Jyn flinched. It was a good alibi, one that invited few questions. They’d pity and try to console him and his worries and wouldn't pry because they didn't want to upset him. The men probably said a few words about how sad it was, then made crass jokes about warming their married bed once. And if she never came back, he could simply say she died. It was an ideal excuse during wartime.

“You look the part,” Cassian added, gesturing vaguely towards her. “Someone sick making a recovery.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and hunched her shoulders. Beneath her shirt, her ribs poked at her hands. She knew she was thinner than she’d been before she’d left, knew that her body had lost weight and muscle and wasn’t taking it back as easily as the medics would’ve liked. She was slower in a fight, still fast compared to a fair amount of opponents, but not as fast as she’d been, not a whip striking before a crack or a bolt that couldn’t be dodged. She couldn’t hit as hard, couldn’t break teeth with a kick, couldn’t do a million things she’d been able to do before and even though she was trying to be okay with it and the new world she found herself in, she still felt vulnerable and flayed to know Cassian was aware of it all too.

Did he think she’d ruin the mission for him? That she wouldn’t be able to do her job when the time came? That she was dead weight, even if she was light as a feather?

Worse yet, he watched her as she curled inward, a question he wasn’t going to ask in his eyes. She wished he would, so she could break and flood him with the words she was holding back. It’d be easy, and it’d end the misery of feeling like a caged animal.

“Any other questions, Corporal?”

Despite her still tense muscles, Jyn gave a fake smile. She knew he would see through it immediately; she did it anyway. “None, sir.”

She turned back towards the chest, acutely aware of his retreating footsteps. He hated her, couldn’t stand to look at her, the exact opposite of everything she wanted back. And now they had to pretend to be married.

She’d disliked Ginevra Tannan. She liked Ginevra Willix even less.

* * *

She made it barely two steps into the ballroom before the wives swarmed, beasts investigating prey rather than concerned friends. Not that Jyn had or would ever consider them friends, but their motives were clear and unashamed. They caressed her cheeks and shoulders, noting how bony she was and how the different skin products brought some life to her face.

At least the medics on base had been genuinely concerned about her health and hadn’t used their poking and prodding to get something else.

Cassian didn’t squeeze her hand as he excused himself, which was slightly annoying. It was more than just comfort, it was a code. _Focus on the one on the left_ or _Don’t stay away long_ or _You’ve got this_. Letting her go with nothing was as good as shoving her into their open maws.

Not that any code would work tonight. The absence had made her noteworthy, and not in a good way. Once this initial group dispersed, they’d cluster in smaller groups and note just how thin and pale she was, how quickly he’d moved to leave her side. They’d tell stories of how they’d heard from their husband or a friend of a friend of a friend that something else had happened, like a secret lover or prison time or a break up.

The best plan for tonight was to suffer through it and hope there was something left on her bones by the end. Trying to gather information would be a waste of time, because everything she said was being noted.

_Tomorrow_ , a small voice in her head croaked. _There’s always tomorrow._

“Well?” one of the wives said when their allotment for concern was over. Later she’d compare their rushed and insincere pleasantries to her friends’ reaction when she’d returned and determine who’d feigned more concern. She suspected the wives. “Are you going to show us?”

Jyn barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She brought the pendant up, the weight and smoothness still foreign to her. It was easy enough to ignore when settled on her chest, but holding it now reminded her just how different it was.

The wives gawked at it, called the coloring lovely and the detailing expert. She supposed they were correct. It was beautiful, the purple rich and the glass clear, large enough to draw some envy but not so big as to look absurd.

How had Cassian managed to convince Draven it was a solid investment? It was something they could only use when playing these roles. Other Intel agents couldn’t use it because the risk of losing it or it be identified elsewhere was too great to risk.

Had he stolen it from a market? Possible. Probable. But the question sat in her mind like an uneven table, the hidden facts concealed in files waiting to be tipped over. Cassian didn’t make mistakes or reckless moves. Everything was calculated to the smallest detail.

Perhaps it’d been meant for something else.

Jyn pushed the thought aside before it could settle in her mind. Marriage necklaces were common on only a handful of planets, typically the core ones or where credit and wine were in excess. If he’d meant to give it to her, Jyn, and not for Cassein to give to Ginevra, he wouldn’t have given it to her at all. Marriage necklaces weren’t popular on Fest, she had no tangible home planet to speak of, and she had her kyber crystal.

Had had. That’d been taken from her as well, another sacrifice.

“Oh, don’t smudge it,” one of the wives chided, pulling Jyn from her thoughts. She hadn’t realized her fingers had closed over it.

Jyn let it go immediately, propping it up by its chain. “Sorry,” she said. “Force of habit.”

“Of course,” one said sympathetically.

“It must’ve given you great comfort,” another added.

She flushed, catching on. She wanted to tell them how it’d given her no comfort at all, because three hours ago she hadn’t even known it existed. How the necklace that actually gave her comfort was light years away and she’d never get it back. How she suspected the origins of this were for something else, something more sincere, but she could never ask.

She wanted to tell them how the doting husband they thought he was had barely spoken to her since she returned four months ago, and each time he had she’d wished he or someone else would shoot her in the gut. How her actual friends struggled to be around her, how they acted like she was someone new and strange.

Most of all, she wanted to tell them that she woke up every night from dreams of death and sacrifice, and that sometimes she wished she’d died rather than come back a second time.

These were not the people to tell such things to, and this was not the time to dwell on those thoughts. Maybe, after she got through this, she could go once more and it wouldn’t hurt anyone nearly as much.

“Yes,” she lied, twisting the chain so the pendant danced. “I think it alone kept me holding on.”

_It’s unfair_ , she thought. _It’s too much._

A different voice in her head responded. _Tell that to the Empire._

* * *

An hour passed before she was reunited with Cassian. Other people were still arriving, and any wives that showed up immediately flocked to her, then away. If the room were a body she was the heart and the other people the blood, pooling around her and then dispersing in pulses.

She took a spot near his elbow and didn’t squeeze his hand. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it.

The husbands were considerably less blood thirsty than the wives, at least where it concerned her. The ones Cassein was well acquainted with gave polite greetings; the others barely spared her a glance.

It was like being on Base, where nobody knew how to interact with her anymore. Well, nobody but Draven and Mothma, but the former was always callous with her and the latter always polite, so they hadn’t needed to change anything. If nothing else, social pariah was a position she was remarkably good at.

“Glad you’re okay,” the officer beside her said, a longtime contact of Cassian’s. He reminded her of Bodhi, more gentle and open than others in the Empire. “Unfortunately, you haven’t missed anything exciting.”

Jyn smiled a little. “I’d be upset if I had, but no news is good news.”

The officer leaned closer. “You should tell your husband that.”

“Why?” she asked, sparing a quick glance at Cassian. His attention was firmly on the conversation he was in with Admiral Nural and a captain, but, as if sensing her gaze, turned to give her a quick, fleeting, fake smile.

“He was... distracted, while you were away,” the officer said. “Checked his comm a lot for updates on you. We tried to tell him that hearing nothing meant you were fine, but he didn’t really believe it.” He smiled a little. “Good thing you recovered.”

“Yeah,” Jyn said absently, turning to Cassian again.

He’d been distracted when she was gone? Enough that even these people had noticed? It helped explain why he’d changed them from engaged to married, but it didn’t make sense. Cassian was perhaps the best person at compartmentalizing that she’d ever met. He knew how to hide what he didn’t want to reveal, how to fake something he didn’t truly feel.

A performance, then. New husbands would be expected to be concerned when their bride fell suddenly and seriously ill. Marrying them could’ve been an improvisation, another facet of the lie to give his distraction more credibility. But what would feigning distraction provide that normal, undivided attention wouldn’t? Guided conversations wouldn’t work if they thought his mind was elsewhere.

Cassian glanced at her again, a question on his face. _Why are you staring at me? Why aren’t you talking to anyone?_

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning close.

She gave a tight smile. She was distracted knowing he’d been distracted, and all it proved was that nothing could be gained from being distracted. “Trying not to overwhelm myself.”

He studied her for a moment before giving a single, sharp nod and returning his focus to the other men.

She knew the underlying meaning he was telling her. _Focus. I’m not the one you should be paying attention to._ The question still thrummed in her mind, though. Had he been truly distracted when she’d been gone, or was it an act? Could he focus now knowing she was safe, or had it been a ploy to find out more?

Did any of it even matter? It was in the past now. She was here. She had a job to do, the same as him.

“I heard a rumor,” one of the officers began, pulling everyone’s undivided attention to him, and she was grateful to have something else to focus on, “that the Alliance got their hands on something valuable.”

Hope burst in Jyn’s chest, followed by hushed panic.

“ _Alliance_ ,” the captain sneered. “They’ve always been a rebellion, nothing more.”

Cassian’s palm slipped into hers, warm and slightly calloused, an obvious warning.

“A foe underestimated is a foe you’ll lose to,” Admiral Nural said. Jyn hummed, surprised that she found herself agreeing with the man. He turned to the first officer. “I wouldn’t worry about a mere rumor.”

“I heard one as well,” Cassian said. The panic in Jyn spread. Did he know? “They said the end of the war could be soon and the Alliance could win.”

The captain snorted. “We’ve heard that since the beginning. We’re still here, aren’t we?”

“But this sounded bad,” the officer said. “Like when they got the Death Star plans.”

Jyn bit her lip, burying her face in Cassian’s arm. In turn, he placed a kiss to the top of her head. To the others, she’d be the frightened wife seeking her husband’s comfort, and he’d be giving her quiet reassurance. Cassian, though, could probably feel her smile, and she could feel the slight shakes he was trying to hide.

If only they knew.

“The Alliance hasn’t been a true threat in years,” the admiral said. “Their golden boy is maimed and no match for Lord Vader. If the end of the war is soon, it’ll be a victory for us.”

The conversation devolved into smaller groups at that, some agreeing with the admiral, others asking questions about the supposed rumors. She heard a few more words on the Alliance’s ‘golden boy’ and wondered what shade of red Luke would turn if anyone called him that, particularly Bodhi.

Of course, getting Bodhi to call Luke the ‘golden boy’ required talking to Bodhi. Jumpy, wary, uncomfortable around her Bodhi.

_I’m the destroyer of lives._

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” the officer beside her said. “At least you have somewhere remote to hide if things go bad. Where was it, again?”

Jyn stiffened. Cassian hadn’t mentioned where he’d said she was, and she hadn’t thought to ask. It was an oversight on her part, but if he’d gone over their new cover with her instead of outright ignoring her—

“Lah’mu,” Cassian supplied, pressing his hand into her back, another warning. It did not stop something small and vulnerable inside her from fracturing. “It’s very remote.”

“But lovely,” Jyn added quietly. “In its own way.”

It felt wrong to speak openly about Lah’mu. Revealing it was like sharing a deep secret, which, technically, it was. Would he tell other officers about the place that’d been her home, tell them it was isolated and a good place to send anyone they needed to hide? And if the Alliance won, would they hunt them down on the planet that’d taken her mother?

Cassian, as if seeming to read her thoughts, said, “She’ll stay with me, though. There’s no reason to worry. I’d be lost without her.”

The officer smiled, so very much like Bodhi. “That special?”

“Yes,” Cassian said. “She’s…”

He trailed off, several moments passing before it was obvious he wasn’t going to finish the sentence. Jyn glanced at him. To anyone else, he’d look like a man hopelessly in love with his relaxed face and soft smile. How many times had she caught that look before? Like he’d forgotten how to breathe when she stepped into the room, or that he hadn’t realized he hadn’t been home until she was there?

Jyn was fairly certain she looked similar—nothing felt truly right without him there. But she could see his eyes and the walls he’d built behind them, and knew it was a show.

What would he have called her if they’d been somewhere he could speak plainly? A liar? Hypocrite? Selfish and cruel?

_He’d call you a hero_ , a different voice chimed in. _He’d call you his_.

She knew the truth, though.

_He wouldn’t._

“Starting the party without me?”

Jyn stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. The others turned and greeted the newcomer like he was the greatest gift they’d ever received. She could hear them fawning over them, telling him it’d been so long and he really should come to these parties more frequently. She heard them call him _Brem_.

If she could’ve voiced her opinion, she would’ve said it hadn’t been long enough. That _Brem_ should stay on his assigned planet, far away from here, from her, from Cassian. Extremely far away from Cassian. Far enough that _Brem_ never met him, never saw his face. She’d personally escort him back if he would only leave Cassian alone.

A hand skirted up and down her back, pressing, coaxing. Jyn took a steadying breath and focused on Cassian, who was, for the first time since she’d returned, looking at her with a great deal of openness on his face. He was wary because he knew she was afraid; he was confused because he knew she knew something more.

Did he not recognize _Brem_? It was surprising but not entirely impossible. When he did glance at the newcomer, there was no recognition on his face, only confusion, concern, and a desperate pleading for her to give him something to go on.

But what could she tell him? Seasoned spy or not, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep everything off his face when he found out. And later he’d press for answers, but what could she say them that wouldn’t have him packing their bags and ditching the mission? Nothing except that they needed to avoid him at all costs.

That would be a later conversation, though. Now, Jyn forced herself to calm down and put on her most reassuring smile, then turned with Cassian to face _Brem_ , the Warden of Wobani.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter! I bumped the rating up because after I posted the first chapter I remembered the beginning of this one.
> 
> I don’t know how this chapter got this long, only that it did.

Part of her knew she was dreaming. It was a small part, not enough to override her brain and wake her up, but she at least knew it was wrong. That whatever part made her see this wasn’t recalling it correctly.

Bile still curled in her throat and anxiety set her nerves on fire, leaving her a twitchy, flighty mess as the body on the floor below her shook and twisted and contorted from the lullaby coursing through its system. She knew that every scream it directed at her, every curse and every accusation, was where memory became dream.

“You did this to me!” it shouted. “You left me! Look at me!”

Jyn’s hands gripped the edge of the opening, and she realized she was on the roof of an elevator, looking down, looking in, as the body screamed and twisted the floor.

 _You made me_ , she tried to say, but nothing came out, not even bile. _You didn’t give me a choice_.

The head turned to her as if it’d heard her, dark and indistinct in her dream. The rest of its body still trembled as the lullaby did its work, but the head stilled and studied her. It gave one firm, disagreeing shake.

“You did this to me, Jyn Erso.”

Jyn woke up with a gasp. Her chest heaved up and down, her shirt clinging like a vine, her hands shaking violently. Her body ached as she tried to adjust, like she’d been shoved in a too small box and left for months.

Across the bed, Cassian didn’t stir. He’d tucked himself along the edge, as far from her as possible despite the ample space to stretch out and still not touch her.

When they’d returned to the room she’d only been able to tell him that Brem was dangerous. Anything else she could’ve told him was clogged in her throat, a tangled mess of horrors and realities that were ready to strangle her. Brem. The Warden. How could she reconcile the name with the monster? At least the man in white’s name was a mystery, and one she didn’t want answered. Monsters were meant to be monsters. He could only be the Warden.

Cassian hadn’t been satisfied with the answer—he had, in fact, been quite annoyed by it. But she hadn’t said anything more, leaving him and Kay to try and figure it out, since trusting her warning, as vague as it was, was apparently out of the question.

If she told him the truth, they’d be gone before the mission could truly start, possibly risking their covers as well. They needed what they’d been sent to retrieve. If the end of the war was as close as the Imperials thought it was, they needed every mission to be a success. They needed to come back with as many secrets as they could to fully topple the Empire.

But secrets could wait. For now, she climbed out of the bed and changed into a fresh shirt, then laid back down and focused on her breathing. It slowed, and she even managed to make it a little deeper as she watched Cassian’s breathing across the bed.

The distance stung, especially knowing how tightly woven they used to be, how much she wanted his comfort right now. But there would be no comfort. Not now, not ever. He was far away and farther still, leaving her with nothing but monsters.

* * *

“We should stop and rest.”

Jyn bit back a groan as Cassian forced them to stop for the sixth time in an hour.

“It’s just a garden, darling,” she said, putting on her prettiest, most Imperial smile just in case anyone was watching. “I don’t need to stop every ten minutes.”

He eyed her, then bobbed his head and offered his arm. “Every fifteen, then.”

“Twenty,” she said, narrowing her eyes. He did the same.

She knew it was part of their ruse, a charade they had to keep up because while many people in the Empire were blind to the worse sides of the galaxy, they were alarmingly keen on picking up little nuances in people. Not necessarily the lies—at least, not all of them—but the things that didn’t add up quite right. An illness that’d very nearly killed her? Walking around without pause or effort, she should not be.

It still sent a nasty bitterness rolling through her, compounded because she was the tiniest bit relieved to have the reprise.

When would that go away? When would she be able to fight again as she had, to be able to fall an opponent with one blow, or strike them thrice before they could block the first? When would her body stop sighing happily because they’d stopped? She wanted to keep going, to get better. She couldn’t do that here, though, and it made her muscles tense and her skin feel too tight.

“We’ll try twenty,” Cassian said, offering his hand to help her up. She could tell he wasn’t quite sure where the act ended and the truth began.

She smiled, genuinely grateful, and took his hand.

At the very least, the garden was beautiful. According to the holosite and forty-eight different advertisements in the lobby, it was the hotel’s call to fame, with daily changing landscaping and impeccably detailed statues. There were even mechanics involved that allowed the maze portion to shift every quarter-hour, so there were always new hideaways to discover.

It was enough to both impress and intrigue Jyn, though she’d never admit it aloud. There were more important things to focus on, like the injustices of the galaxy, and Cassian. Not that there was much to be done about Cassian. His walls were up and unyielding. Was it even worth the effort? She knew from what they’d had before that he was worth every last effort, but if he didn’t want her in, he wouldn’t let her. No matter how persistent she was, no matter how many ways she tried to make amends, if he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t, and ultimately his patience would win. He would wait her out, wait until she’d given every last drop of herself, then walk away. Her breath hitched at the thought.

Cassian immediately pulled them to a halt, ushering her to the closest bench. He was the perfect doting husband, feeling her forehead and cheeks, crouched in front of her like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Maybe there was—no. He cared about his mission partner, nothing more. It was a small victory, but she’d take it wholly and selfishly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. She could practically see the wheels in his mind turning, trying to find what had alarmed her.

“How long was that?” she asked instead.

“About fifteen minutes,” he said. “You okay?”

Jyn grit her teeth. Fifteen minutes. Even if it’d been the thought of Cassian to wind her, there was a great, sweeping relief coursing through her body just from sitting down, followed by a very bitter anger. She wasn’t sure how much her pride would be able to take.

“Jyn?”

 _You’re tense_ , a voice in her head said. _If you’re tense, we fail._

“Fine,” Jyn bit out, acutely aware of how unbelievable the word was.

Cassian was quiet. She didn’t dare look at him. Her frustration was plain on her face, that much she was sure of. But could he pinpoint exactly why? They’d always been exceptionally good at figuring out the other’s problems without any words. He probably had a few ideas already, and was waiting to see her next move, which would confirm one or another.

She stood, wiping the frustration from her face, wondering what conclusion he came to from this action and keen to give him as little as possible. She wouldn’t be weak, not in front of him.

“A lovely day for a stroll, isn’t it?”

Jyn stiffened, the hands she’d offered Cassian suddenly feeling cold and sticky, their accompanying arms rigid as stone. For a moment, the world was gray and misty, the earth below a thick mud that stuck to her boots. She took a breath, forced her body to loosen. The sky was blue, birds sang, and there was only gravel beneath her slippers.

Cassian took her arms and pulled himself up, then, without letting go, tucked her into his side and turned them to face Brem.

He looked the same as he had on Wobani. HIs gray suit was immaculate, his face clean shaven and tilted ever so slightly up. She hadn’t seen him frequently, but the few times she had she’d wanted to punch him in the jaw, if only to see it drop.

“Yes,” Cassian said smoothly, undisturbed. If her warnings were playing in his head, he didn’t show it. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

“No, unfortunately my post is remote and the hours are long.”

The Warden’s eyes flicked to her and away just as quickly, but Jyn’s stomach still rolled violently. Did he recognize her? Her hair was different, longer and styled, the bangs all sept to one side, and there were beauty products hiding the freckles and contouring her face. She was still boney, but not as severely as she’d been on Wobani. There were thousands of prisoners, surely he couldn’t recall all their faces from memory.

“Cassein Willix,” Cassian said, offering his hand to the Warden, Jyn still firmly tucked beneath the other. “This is my wife, Ginevra.”

She tried to smile politely, but it was hard to manage with bile creeping up her throat.

“Brem,” the Warden said, extending his hand. “I’m the Warden of Detention Center and Labor Camp L.E.G. eight-seventeen.”

“That’s quite the mouthful,” Cassian said, still smiling, but more warily now, a rodeo suspecting a trap. She could practically see his mind spinning, knowing he knew it from somewhere but unable to place it.

The Warden laughed. Jyn’s stomach rolled. “Yes, it is. We usually just call it Wobani.”

Beneath her palm, Cassian stiffened, all the pieces falling into place. She had no doubt he was currently asking the same questions she had, plus a few she hadn’t. He was probably even debating calling off the mission or finding an excuse to send her away.

Still, his smile was pleasant. “What brings you here, Warden?”

“Sunshine,” he said, gesturing up. “There’s very little there.”

“We’re here for the same,” Jyn said, a sappy layer of disgust washing over her as the Warden turned to her like a predator. She blinked and the predatory look was gone. Maybe he was just looking at her like a normal person and she was so anxious she was imagining the rest of it. “Cassein promised me sunshine after keeping me on Lah’mu for months.”

“Yes,” Cassian said. “It was peaceful for her recovery, but there isn’t much sunlight, unfortunately.”

The Warden’s brow crooked. “You were in recovery? I hope it was nothing terrible.”

Cassian’s thumb dug rapidly into her shoulder twice, then a third, longer press. _Sorry_. He followed that with the rest of his fingers pressing into her skin and drifting down ever so slightly. _Get him off this topic_.

“A virus that’s a side effect of a disease I had as a child,” she said, recalling the time her mother had been in bed for weeks and her father had explained it as such. “Unpleasant and, if you listen to my husband—” she threw a quick smile towards Cassian “—very dire. I think he worries too much.”

“She jokes, but if it’d been me, she would’ve been beside herself.”

It was true, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

The Warden smiled. It was hard to accept the clean, neat smile as it was and not imagine maggots and flies crawling through his teeth. “We should toast to your health, then, Mrs. Willix. I’m sure there’s a servant with champagne somewhere.”

“That’s all right, Warden,” she said, feeling again like she was on Wobani and up to her knees in muck. “I’m still on a strict diet.”

“Well, your husband and I—”

“I’m actually following her diet as well,” Cassian interrupted. “Solidarity, for my beloved.”

Jyn glanced at him, but nothing sincere was on Cassian’s face. More than likely, he didn’t want to risk something being slipped into his drink, but she wondered if he knew the hole he’d just dug himself into. She hadn’t been lying about the strict diet—another annoying side effect of recovery—and had no doubt Cassian knew about it as well. The medics had been very firm about this and had even sent the chart of what she could and could not eat, along with portion sizes, to Kay. He’d informed her of this the second she’d stepped onto the ship, then told her it was up to her to follow it because he was already in charge of Cassian’s diet and had no interest in monitoring hers.

Later, Cassian would probably regret this throwaway comment, just as he regretted marrying their aliases.

The Warden stared at him for a long moment, his face as well masked as Cassian’s. It reminded her of a story she’d heard on Wobani from her cellmate, that some men had died just from meeting the Warden’s eyes. _They weren’t stabbed or strangled. They just saw his eyes and died_.

She’d called it banthashit at the time, but couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it wasn’t.

 _He’s not Vader_ , she reminded herself. _He’s not special. He’s a man._

A man she very much wanted to kill, but that was beside the point.

“That’s admirable of you,” the Warden said. Maybe killing him wasn’t beside the point, if he saw a husband doing something generous for his wife as ‘admirable,’ even if it was all a lie. “Shall we walk, then? As I said, it is a lovely day.”

“Of course,” Cassian said, turning them and placing Jyn to his right, leaving space for the Warden on his left. It’d obscure the Warden’s view of her, even more so if she walked half a step behind. She made sure she did.

In ten minutes, they’d be able to shake off the Warden as they paused for her again. Fifteen, if Cassian was getting anything useful.

“The sun and weather can’t be the only reason for your trip,” he said, casual and flippant.

“A meeting with Caplan,” the Warden said, dropping the admiral’s first name easily. Had they been lessor spies, their ears would’ve perked like a tooka cat. “Although, meeting oversells it, I think.”

“Old friends?”

“Of a sort.”

Jyn frowned, trying to determine what exactly that meant. It’d be easier if she could see his face fully, but peaking around Cassian to stare at him would be too obvious. How could two people be old friends of a sort? Did she have any old friends of a sort? Or, rather, friends of a sort? Perhaps that’s what all her friends were. Friends, but not exactly. Trust without reciprocation, intimacy without closeness. Of a sort.

It didn’t clear up what exactly the Warden and the Admiral’s relationship was, but she understood it, in a way. Jyn frowned; the last thing she needed to do was to be empathetic with the Warden.

“I’ve always heard Naboo’s Festival of Light is quite remarkable,” Cassian said. “I promised Gin to bring her after she recovered. It was something for her to look forward to.”

“I made sure to heal as quickly as I could,” Jyn said, leaning around him as if she were sharing something conspiratorial with the Warden. The thought settled heavily on her already uneasy stomach.

“So would I, for a chance like this,” he said.

“I think she may have lied a bit on how well she was doing,” Cassian said, tugging her gently away from the Warden. “But if it makes her happy, how can I deny it?”

“It’d be foolish not to,” the Warden agreed.

Silence fell save for the gravel beneath their shoes. Cassian nudged her gently, pushing her gently away. _Privacy_. She drifted towards the flowers, only her hand nestled in Cassian’s elbow, her arm nearly fully stretched. If she stretched her other arm, she’d be able to snatch one. Purple or pink or white or red or yellow. She could sniff it, observe it, pluck it the way someone once told her. Play a silly childhood game and let it determine what, precisely, her status with Cassian was. It was a dumb idea, but an enticing one, if only for a second.

“Did you hear about the prison break?” Cassian asked, voice low. Though Jyn could hear it perfectly, she knew the good Imperial wife would look at the flowers and ignore it.

The Warden grunted. “Yes. A complete disgrace.”

“I heard the rebellion stole something important,” he said. Jyn’s heart seized. She pressed her fingers into his arm, trailing them down. _Get off this topic_. “They’re saying it could lead to their victory.”

The Warden cleared his throat. “I’ve heard that as well.”

More pressing, more dragging. _Get off, get off, get off_.

“Really? Even on Wobani?”

Had maintaining their cover not been crucial, she would’ve punched his arm.

“Sometimes we’re lucky enough to hear about things first,” he said. There was a pause before he laughed, and Jyn’s stomach turned violently.

She could practically hear Cassian’s mind turning, like factories on Coruscant’s lower levels. What did he know? And was it worth pursuing with the Warden of all people? Admiral Nural, sure. A captain or an officer? No problem at all. But talking about the Alliance with the Warden of Wobani? Had he forgotten where it’d all started, the rebellion turning into the Alliance? Before Scarif, when the hunch had been there and the pieces scattered? How they’d started to fall into place?

Was he purposely ignoring that?

_Get off this topic now._

“I’m sure it’s just a rumor,” Cassian said. “They’ll be quashed in no time.”

“I’m partial to believing all rumors have an ounce of truth,” the Warden said.

The silence crept back, sharp and pointed like the vines and thorns beneath the flowers. A different wife would’ve chimed in, gotten her husband off such a dour topic. Jyn wasn’t sure she was breathing, let alone capable of crafting a segue. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Stopped the topic before it got too far? She couldn’t say or do anything without drawing the Warden’s entire focus, which was the last place it needed to be.

He needed to go away. She needed to get away. She needed to get Cassian away.

She didn’t realize she was on the ground until she was already there, with bits of gravel digging into her arm. Cassian was hovering over her, close, nearly blocking the Warden from her view. But not quite. She could see him lurking above them, blotting out the sun. He was frowning, studying her, scrutinizing her.

The only time she’d felt more vulnerable was the first time she’d told Cassian she loved him. The circumstances had been drastically different.

“Gin?” Cassian asked, hands cupping her face, pressing into her cheeks. She could almost convince herself he was about to pull her in for a kiss, but there were more important things to focus on. Like Draven being right about Ginevra and her nickname.

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling herself out of his grasp. Cassian shifted, moving to stand. Jyn held her arm up on instinct.

The hand that grabbed her was warm, the grip tight. Too tight. Almost like a claw digging it. Her head jerked up. It wasn’t Cassian helping her, but the Warden, his face wiped clean of whatever it’d held before. A glance at Cassian told her exactly how uneasy he was with this situation, but how he knew nothing could be done.

“Thank you, Warden,” she said once she was standing, careful to not look at her eyes.

“Of course, Mrs. Willix. It was my pleasure.”

“You should sit, love,” Cassian said, pulling her away, ushering her to another bench. He crouched before her again, close, doting, unsettled. It was an odd look on him, his nerves exposed as if his skin had been peeled back. She touched his cheek, rubbing her thumb in gentle circles, as if that was all that was needed to settle him.

Once upon a time, it had been.

“I’m okay, Cass,” she murmured, tilting her head forward, pressing gently against his. She could feel him nod.

“If you’re sure.” His hand reached out, two fingers pressing into her leg. _Wait._

“Are you certain I can’t get anyone for you?” the Warden asked.

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “No, thank you, Warden.”

“Brem is fine, Cassein.”

“Brem.”

The Warden smiled and nodded, then started a lazy stroll towards the exit.

“You know,” he said, pausing near a bush, “my sister used to play a game. She’d tear the petals off flowers, and if it was even, some boy loved her, if it was odd, he didn’t. A silly game, but she said it was the best way to know if they were worth her time.” He picked a flower from the bush and offered it to her. She could see a small drip of blood on his finger from where the thorn got him. “Gin?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said, a touch too hastily. She wasn’t sure how she managed to get the words out with bile pooling at the top of her throat. She turned to Cassian and smiled prettily, a loth-cat having found something shiny to covet. “I know the answer to that question.”

_He loves me not._

* * *

Jyn braced herself for the interrogation once they returned to the room. It wouldn’t be a bomb going off—Cassian knew how to hold his calm, had only ever broken it once before her. But when the door shut behind them he didn’t turn or sit or call for Kay. He only said he was going to take a shower, then left to do just that.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath in anticipation; loosing it left her dizzy and light-headed.

Why hadn’t he asked her? Now that he knew Brem was the Warden, he knew the severity of the situation. He was probably debating whether or not to call the mission off, now fully able to weigh each possibility against the next. Ideally, he’d decide staying was more important—because it very well was—but she wouldn’t be surprised if he came back and told her they were leaving.

Maybe that was the new plan, to get out before hell broke loose. Would he hold his interrogation until they were on the ship, where he could safely lose his anger and berate her? Or would he wait her out, until she was a groveling mess, begging for forgiveness for messing up?

That had to be what he was doing now. Keeping her waiting, on edge, knowing that something serious was coming but not giving her the satisfaction of release. Let her wallow, worry, wait until it’d hurt her the most.

“This is not the ship,” Kay said, stepping into the room and disrupting her thoughts. He had a particular knack for that.

Jyn frowned. “Yes, I know.”

“Then you know you are free to move about, and do not have to hover at the door.”

She rolled her eyes, making a great show of stepping further into the suite. “Thank you, Kay.”

He ignored the soft dismissal, instead staying there and surveying her. She could hear the soft whirs and clicks in his challis, the signs that there was a thought coursing through his circuits, but one he wasn’t voicing. How the times had changed. He was still quick to voice the majority of his opinions, particularly the nasty ones, but the restraint was new. It made her feel the tiniest bit more isolated from him.

Friends, of a sort.

She pressed forward, forcing herself into the suite, to sit and occupy her hands and mind. Half of her wanted to know what Kay was thinking; the other half wasn’t interested in being insulted at the moment. Still, she heard the creak of his neck ever so slightly as he swiveled to follow her.

“Where did they find you?” she asked. When she’d left, he’d still been nothing more than a backup in the droid bay. Three years hadn’t yielded a new body to store him in, but seven months? Plenty of time, apparently.

“Geonosis.” He paused before adding, “Cassian said you’d suggested it once.”

Jyn stiffened. She had, once. They’d had two weeks of down time after a long-term undercover mission that’d ended with the five of them with various injuries. They’d commiserated how Kay hadn’t been there, then took turns naming potential places they could find a replacement. Saw had taken her to Geonosis once and pointed out the droid factory, though that hadn’t been their focus.

That’d been a year and a half after Scarif. She wasn’t surprised Cassian remembered it, but she was surprised that he’d mentioned it to Kay.

“It was a passing comment,” he added, before she could think too much into it. “He didn’t even mention you by name.”

It was like making a too sharp turn in a speeder, sending her tumbling to the side. “Good to know.”

He stepped back into the other room, content with having sufficiently bothered her. The newfound silence didn’t last. Cassian stepped into the room a few minutes later, sinking heavily into a chair across from her.

Jyn’s body tensed, once more ready for the interrogation. And it would be an interrogation. Perhaps a kind one, not too unlike their first meeting, where there’d be no torture or cruelty, but still serious and frank all the same.

But Cassian didn’t move from the chair or ask a question. He sat there, staring off into the distance, his hair still a little wet and dripping onto his shirt. She turned away, feeling cowardly. Staring at him was the least she could do, and she couldn’t even manage that.

“You can ask,” she said, when it was obvious he wouldn’t be the first to speak.

Cassian sighed wearily but he still didn’t say anything. She was nearly ready to ask the questions on his behalf when he cleared his throat.

Jyn looked up, and the Cassian looking at her was one she hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked exhausted, bruised and battered from a war going on in his head that he couldn’t stop, couldn’t change. The last time he’d looked like this had been after Scaarif, when he’d insisted running himself into the ground instead of recovering, always saying he couldn’t stop because Alderaan was destroyed because he hadn’t been fast enough.

She knew when the inner war had resumed.

“I don’t know if he recognized me or not,” she said, answering the question he still hadn’t asked. “I only saw him twice, and it was at a distance.” The game was something she’d learned on Wobani as well, but it was possible his story was true. “There are thousands of prisoners and it’s been a while.”

In the other room, she heard Kay whir.

Cassian studied her, his expression empty. She’d only been gone a few months but here he was, run down and haggard once more.

“Okay,” he said, voice drained. He looked at Kay who’d just stepped into the room. “Brem is the Warden of Wobani. Keep an eye on his movements, but we keep going as planned.”

“Understood,” Kay said.

Jyn nodded, burrowing further into her seat, curling inward. If she made herself small enough, maybe her past would stop noticing her, stop taking time out of its day to purposely track her down. If she folded, bended, contorted herself smaller and smaller, maybe it’d go away and not target everyone around her.

It wouldn’t, though, not now and not ever. She was too appealing a target, too excellent at taking down those around her for it to pass. There was no escaping the past; it stalked her reality and haunted her dreams, and every time it revealed itself it got a little closer to breaking her.

She’d escaped death’s clutches when it’d been actively hunting her—if she were truly desperate, she knew she could welcome it willingly. But no, she’d lasted too long, escaped death one time too many to greet it openly.

It was the kind of thought that was like a river finally reaching a lake and dumping into it. Greet death she would not, but what of those she’d seen greet death willingly? The body in her dreams had chosen that, had picked its terms and made her watch. Was the end as violent as her head told her, or had it been kinder, smoother?

“Is lullaby painless?”

Cassian’s head snapped up, his gaze flickering over her, then around the room wildly. “What’s wrong? Kay!”

“What?” He was out of the chair before she’d even finished the word, kneeling before her, fingers poking at jaw and lips. Jyn pulled back, trying to escape his grasp. “I’m fine, it’s just a question.”

He pulled back but his hands didn’t leave her face. One moved to her forehead, looking for a temperature. Finding none, they, too, left her face.

She missed them immediately.

“I do not detect anything abnormal,” Kay announced.

“Just a question?” Cassian asked, settling onto the table before her. He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost then been slapped by it.

“Yes.” She frowned. “You thought I’d been poisoned?”

“Hostile planet, Jyn,” he said, waving his hand vaguely.

“Statistically speaking,” Kay interrupted, “Jyn Erso is more likely to die from a blaster than anything else, but poison does have a seven percent probability.”

She ignored him. “I just—I need to know.”

Cassian frowned, head cradled in one hand. “Why?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it just as quickly. Where everything else was a secret she had to keep despite wanting to tell him, this was different. Sharing meant reliving, and more specifically, reliving during the day. Being haunted in her dreams was more than enough.

He gave a quiet huff, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. “Why did you keep telling me to switch topics with the Warden?”

She gave him a flat stare. “Seriously?”

“You said it yourself, you don’t think he recognized you—”

“And the smart thing would be to not go near a topic where he could remember me—”

“Sure,” Cassian said dismissively, “but you knew I knew that. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Jyn scowled. “Is that your default now? Suspecting me of withholding information?”

It was his turn to give her a flat stare. “I know you’re withholding plenty. Where’s the line?”

Everywhere. There were a dozen of them, boxing her in, crowding her, making her space in the universe smaller and smaller. There was nothing she wanted more than to erase every last one of them, but they were carved in stone, not sand, and unwilling to bend.

“I told you we need to avoid the Warden at all costs,” she snapped. “Forgive me for being on edge near him.”

“You stopped me from getting intel, Jyn,” he said, equally furious. “We could’ve found out where the prison riot was.”

“We already know that!”

Cassian blinked, his body straightening awkwardly. “You know where the prison break was?”

A dozen filthy swears passed through her mind, followed by a dozen more in different languages. “Draven mentioned it in the briefing. It was on Vallt.”

Kay whirred again, though once more, whatever was going through his circuits he didn’t voice.

“You were born on Vallt,” Cassian said slowly, as if that were the most important piece. She nodded. He brought his hand to his mouth, one finger tapping idly against his lips. She doubted he even knew he was doing it.

She was hyper aware of it.

A knock at the door broke the tension in the room, though where she snapped like a rubber band, Cassian emerged slowly, like he was coming up from a deep dive. Behind them, Kay opened the door. After a moment and a few unclear voices, he shut it.

“Ginevra Willix,” he said. “There is a hoard of women outside demanding your presence.”

“Go see what you can get,” Cassian said, before she even had time to think whether or not she was thankful for the escape. “I’ll see what I can get from the officers. I’ll be late.”

Jyn nodded, knowing she was dismissed. But as she walked towards the door, she still caught him saying, “Kay, pull up what you can on Vallt.”

* * *

It was dark by the time she returned. Cassian wasn’t back yet, though he’d told her to expect that.

The wives had still pawed at her like an animal or doll, effectively ruining any chance of her getting anything. Almost. An invitation to join several of them for the entire day counted for something, as did learning that a handful of them had slept with the Warden, though that was worth significantly less. Still, blackmail was blackmail, and if she were clever enough, she could use it against the Warden, too.

She took a long shower, trying to scrub away all the bits of her that’d been pawed by the wives, all the spots that the Warden’s gaze had lingered. If she pressed hard enough, dug deep enough, she’d be new and untouched by anyone, even Cassian.

The thought had her hand stilling for a moment, then scrubbing even harder, so that when she finally stepped out of the shower there were splotches of red all along her body.

Cassian was in bed by then, tucked once more along the edge, eyes shut and posture relaxed, though she knew he wasn’t asleep yet. Maybe he was writing a nightly report in his head before entering it digitally; maybe he was just enjoying the silence. If she could feel half as peaceful as he looked, it’d be a restful night.

“The wives invited me to spend the day with them tomorrow,” Jyn said. “They didn’t say all that we’d be doing, but the exclusivity was implied.”

“Good,” he said, shifting slightly but not opening his eyes. “But they may get suspicious if you’re there all day.”

“They said there’d be opportunities to rest, and at least part of it will be good for my health. I’m guessing a spa is involved.”

He hummed, then bobbed his head once in agreement. “Will you be okay all day?”

“I’ll make it work.”

“Anything else?”

“Most of the wives seem to be infatuated with the Warden. Some have cheated with him.”

“Will you be joining them?”

Her organs plummeted through the bed, past floor and earth and sea to the core of Naboo. So. That was what he thought of her. Anger curled and unraveled in her newly empty carcass, soothing and bitter all at once, like the darkest caf imaginable.

Cassian sat up, and when he spoke again he sounded genuinely regretful. “I didn’t mean that. It was callous.”

“It’s fine,” she said dismissively, knowing full well that even if he hadn’t meant for it to sound that harsh, he’d truly meant it in some form. “I deserved that.”

“No, you—”

“I can go, if you want,” she snipped, her anger still rising, unable to stay away. She needed to lash out, protect herself, defend herself, redeem herself. “I’ll tell him I’m the one who escaped, Lianna Hallik. Should be a sufficient prize—”

“Jyn, that’s—”

She didn’t yield. “No, that’s a good point. I should tell him I’m really Jyn Erso, make the compensation even better—”

“Stop it,” he snapped.

“Why?” She rounded on him. “What’s the difference between there and here?”

“You don’t get to demand pity,” he said. “You chose to go.”

“Would it help if I left again?”

Cassian sucked in a deep breath. She’d known him long enough to know that his tone would be calm and soothing. She wished she could manage that. Wished she could be gentle and poised like him, or even the stark opposite, like a thunderstorm that lasted days. Something that wasn’t in between, that didn’t sway second to second, like a ship on a rough sea. Too harsh and he’d walk away. Too soft and he’d think her weak.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he said, and his voice was indeed calm. “That was unfair. I was focused on the intel and ignoring the history.” He paused again, inhaling deeply. “But we get to be angry you left, and it’s unfair if you try to take that from us.”

It always shocked her, these moments of vibrant honesty that sometimes escaped him. Not that he wasn’t usually truthful, but for him to be so forthcoming and blatant with his words was rare and noteworthy. It also made her feel ten times worse than she already did.

“Okay,” she said softly, the wind knocked out of her.

Cassian nodded slowly, watching her. After a moment he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and sank back down to the bed, closing his eyes. “Good work, Jyn.”

She snorted before she could think to stop it.

Cassian sighed. “What?”

What indeed. Where did she even start with that response? Did she say it was simply her job, dismiss the ‘good’ portion of it entirely? It was necessary work if they wanted their mission to go well, but that didn’t make it good work. ‘Good work’ was only meant for death defying days, and that was entirely dependent on whether it was a success or not.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just—nothing.”

For a moment, she thought he’d say more but, like every time before that she thought he’d press, he let it drop, rolling onto his back and settling in for sleep.

* * *

Jyn tried to follow his lead, but fear was beating exhaustion and keeping her awake. Even when she studied the smooth, unbothered lines around his eyes and the slight gape of his mouth and mimicked them, the body appeared before her, beckoning her to sleep, taunting whether it’d be there or not. It was like playing sabaac with the worst hand possible and still thinking she was going to win. Nightmares were unavoidable, but she laid down each night hoping they’d be absent.

She tucked herself tighter against the edge, shoving her face into the pillow.

 _You need to relax_ , a voice told her. It wasn’t as soothing as Cassian’s, but it spoke in a similar rhythm, knew the pace that’d lull a spooked person. _You’re worthless to us if you’re not._

 _Shut up_ , she told it. _I know how to handle myself_.

A responding scoff echoed in her head.

“You okay?”

Jyn startled, nearly pitching herself off the bed. She swallowed once, twice, before managing, “I’m fine.”

Cassian made a quiet, disbelieving noise. He was a light sleeper; she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d felt every shift she’d made.

“You need to sleep. Tomorrow will require a lot.”

“Then I’ll sleep extremely well tomorrow.” If she were lucky, it’d be deep and dreamless.

He was silent for a long moment, shifting on the bed. “Do you need to talk about it?”

Jyn stiffened, turning her head so she could just see him in the corner of her eye. Did she need to talk about it? Probably, if she wanted to have a peaceful mind. But she’d faced horrible things before and hadn’t talked about them. Burying may not have been a recommended practice, but it was an effective one.

“Why do you care?” she hedged, turning back to the wall, voice less sharp than she’d expected.

The bed jostled as Cassian moved—shrugged, more than likely. “I’d like to complete this mission without dying.”

“You’re not going to die if I don’t sleep.”

“That’s not—I meant it for all three of us. No deaths on this mission.”

It’d been something he’d said every time after Scarif. No deaths this time. A reminder that they still had a job to do, but were to do it safely, cautiously. A reminder to those they’d lost, and how they’d make it up to them. There were so many, and still there were more.

“If you think Draven will be sad I’m gone, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Jyn,” Cassian said, gentle, like he was about to deliver a blow he couldn’t avoid, “I don’t want you to die.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

It was churlish and rude, out before she could fully process it. It hung in the air like a brick tied to a rope and ready to fall. She wondered who it’d crush.

“I’m angry, okay?” he said softly. “I don’t know how to be around you anymore. That doesn’t mean I want you dead. You meant something to me.”

Jyn sucked in a deep breath. It shuddered as she loosed it. The brick had fallen on her.

“I’ll go lay on the couch.”

Cassian moved, snagging her hand. “You need to sleep and you won’t out there.”

He pointedly ignored the four-letter word hovering around them. A small, cruel part of her wanted to force him to say it. A different, equally cruel, self-loathing part hoped he’d never say it to her again.

“I can’t sleep anywhere,” she said. “Not peacefully. No point making it worse for you.”

“I’ll survive,” he said, tugging on her hand again.

She followed it, lying back down, forcing her body to settle. She felt a little like Kay when he had to power down and didn’t want to, purposely slumping like a heavy sack. A brief flicker of amusement passed over Cassian’s face, as if he too were thinking the same thing.

The room was silent, save for their breathing and her occasionally rustling the sheets as she moved. He didn’t let go of her hand. She met his eyes, waiting for him to close them, to take his hand away. He didn’t.

“You saw someone take lullaby,” he started, then faltered.

“I know it happened differently, but I can’t stop seeing it.”

His face pinched. “I can’t guarantee it’ll get better.”

“Guess I’ll never sleep again.”

A shy, genuine smile flickered across his lips, welcoming enough that she could return it with a small one of her own, like it was a secret shared. She nearly snorted. A secret that involved dead bodies and poison. They were quite the pair.

She rolled onto her back, settling once more and closing her eyes. Even if sleep didn’t come, she was more than happy where she was, with his hand holding hers, a star for their bodies to orbit in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I decided to scrap what I had the night before I posted the last chapter, and this chapter was a pain in the ass to write. I really like how it turned out and hope you do too.

“You look terrible.”

Jyn glared at Kay, feeling the weight of her eyes as she did so. “Thank you, Kay.”

“It was not a compliment,” the droid said primly, turning back to the counter and what she assumed to be Cassian’s breakfast.

Jyn rolled her eyes and sank into her chair. She knew she looked rough, that the sleeplessness showed obviously on her face. Her eyes were puffy with dark crescents beneath them and her face seemed to sag, despite her having spent several minutes patting her cheeks with cold water. Even her shoulders couldn’t be bothered to hold themselves up properly, slouching with the weight of the entire galaxy.

Cassian had looked no better when she’d crawled out of bed. He’d never let go of her hand, and every time she woke in a cold sweat he’d coaxed her back down with gentle words, but the exhaustion had been obvious with how heavily he was pressed into the pillow. He probably wouldn’t ever admit it, but Jyn suspected he regretted asking her to stay last night.

Not that he’d asked her to stay. They’d both avoided the word like blaster fire in a fight, though for entirely different reasons. He knew how to dodge a shot. She was too cowardly to take the hit.

Jyn jerked as Kay set a plate down before her. It was full of food, unlike the various nutrient bars she’d been having, though she didn’t doubt the values were the same. “You made me breakfast?”

“Cassian said I had to,” the droid said petulantly. “He’s always making me do stuff when it comes to you. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like being yelled at by medics,” Cassian said, stepping into the room. He took the seat across from her, where another plate filled exactly the same sat. Apparently he was committed to mimicking her diet, even in the privacy of their suite. “You’re easier to deal with.”

“I am not the problem,” Kay said, and Jyn wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him sound more affronted. “Corporal Jyn Erso is the problem.”

“He doesn’t have to keep track,” she said. “I’ve been doing it myself. You can save yourself both headaches.”

Cassian stared at her for a long moment. The exhaustion was still evident on his face, but she’d seen it on herself in the mirror and knew that he was fairing far better. At the very least, he was faking it better than she was.

“Is everything where it should be?” he asked, turning to Kay.

Kay was silent for a moment, and she swore she saw his lights dim in an approximation of a glare. “Jyn Erso’s vitamin and nutrient levels are adequate.”

“Only adequate?” Cassian pressed.

Kay ducked his head, a child scolded. “According to the test she took today, her iron is low.”

“You have access to that?” she asked, voice a touch high. If he had access to her medical files, had he found a way to access her other files? He was notoriously terrible at keeping things from Cassian. She’d also have to look into the tester the medics gave her if it automatically synced its results to Kay. “You said they only gave you charts of approved foods and portion sizes.”

“They were very insistent,” Kay groused.

“Kay, I still want you keeping track of Jyn’s health,” Cassian said. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I really don’t want the medics yelling at me.”

“I don’t, either,” she agreed. With her fork she pointed at his plate. “You don’t have to follow it, though. I’m pretty sure this is a form of torture.”

His smile turned more sincere. “Probably, but if we both have the same meals, I prevent eighty percent of Kay’s complaining.”

“Your numbers are wildly incorrect,” the droid said. “Only seventeen percent of my complaining is dedicated to your diet.”

“That seems low,” Jyn said, smiling a little. Cassian did, too.

She’d missed this, the ease between them. And not just her and Cassian, but her and all of them. There was something to be said about a group that was able to play off each other effortlessly, both in and out of combat. It was more than camaraderie; it was family.

 _It’s for all of them_.

Jyn dropped her head and focused on her plate, ignoring the tears pooling behind her eyes. Cassian must’ve been more tired than she’d thought if he was willing to be this carefree around her. Not two days prior he’d barely been able to look at her, and when he had he’d been inscrutable. Now he was openly expressing concern in her wellbeing. The circumstances had changed with the Warden’s arrival—and she didn’t think him so heartless as to throw her to the rancor—but the whiplash was enough to make her head spin.

Was it all a test? An evaluation? How much did she want him—all of them—back? How far would she run with an inch? And what happened if she took that inch and stretched it farther and farther? If she was overeager with the smallest scraps, would that be considered too much? Would they call her out for it, say that she hadn’t groveled enough to earn a place back with them? When would it be enough?

 _One chance, then the next_.

“I do not like this,” Kay announced, glancing between them. “Did you two fornicate last night?”

Whatever bubble had been forming around them and comforting her burst. Jyn wasn’t sure what hurt more—the loss of the familiarity, the reminder of what she’d had, or Cassian’s quick and clipped, “No, we didn’t.”

The line was back and clear in the daylight. Maybe it was something she’d only come close to crossing during the night. Maybe it was something she wasn’t meant to cross ever again.

“Good. I find you more agreeable when you’re angry with her and,” He set a datapad in front of Cassian, “I would be very annoyed if my data was useless.”

“Data?” Jyn asked. Cassian’s attention was on his plate, though she wasn’t sure if he was purposely ignoring her, Kay, or the datapad.

“It is a comprehensive list of the wives that would yield the most information while with Cassian,” Kay said, unbothered. “Of course, you would have to stay out of the suite during that time.”

She hadn’t thought it possible, but she’d found somewhere colder than Hoth. In retrospect, she should’ve expected this. He was a spy, and a good one.

Cassian cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary, Kay. It wouldn’t be fitting if I had any… excursions while Jyn was still recovering.”

“I believe some of the wives would be quite willing,” he said. “You could say that a relapse is imminent.”

Jyn clenched her jaw. “Trying to send me away?”

“That would not be a terrible idea. Cassian’s probability of death drops dramatically when he is not concerned with you.” He paused and considered Cassian, who’s focus had once more returned to his plate. “Although, based on Bodhi Rook’s account, Cassian was—”

“Can we not talk about this, Kay?” Cassian interrupted quietly. He didn’t look at her, but she knew it was just as much meant for her. “The intel I get from the officers will be sufficient, as well as what Jyn can get from the wives.”

“Fine,” Kay snipped. “But if General Draven says we should’ve seized more opportunities for intel, I get to replay this recording.”

Jyn frowned and studied Kay, though she knew she’d get nothing from the droid.

“By all means,” Cassian said. He glanced at the chrono. “We should get going. If you need an out, comm me, okay?” He paused and bit the corner of his lip. Jyn’s face tightened in anticipation. Cassian didn’t have too many tells, but that was one he’d picked up from her when he was nervous. “Play it safe, but if you think the risk is worth it, risk it.”

“That is terrible advice for a spy,” Kay said. “If she does ‘play it safe,’ she will be limiting herself greatly.”

“He has a point,” she said. “I’ll be okay, Cassian. I can manage a few hours.”

The words didn’t seem to sway him, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

Jyn wasn’t sure if she’d been overestimating her body’s capabilities or underestimating the wives, but a few hours was harder to manage than she’d thought.

Physically, she was fine. They’d been very insistent on frequent breaks despite not doing anything remotely straining, and the spa they’d predictably taken her to had helped her weakened muscles with its steaming water.

Mentally, she was exhausted. The wives weren’t even necessarily bad to speak with, but she felt like she was locked in multiple games of dejarik with all of them as she tried to navigate conversations and get information. Gala’s were the good times for secrets, as long as any time a husband was around. But a regular ‘girls day’ meant the wives didn’t want to discuss their husbands work and instead talked about the latest fashions.

The most she’d been able to get was that the higher up officers knew specifically that the riot had been on Vallt, and that they all knew something serious had been stolen, though they hadn’t been able to specify what. Jyn had been more than happy to go along with them.

Now she was stuck waiting for Cassian in the garden. She could’ve returned to their suite on her own—would’ve preferred it, in all honesty—but this wasn’t the type of place where that happened. They were the ‘elites’ of the Empire, and that meant wives waited for their husbands to escort them back, and got annoyed when they were taking too long.

Cassian was taking too long.

He was probably doing it on purpose, give her ‘more time’ with the wives. But the ones with any vital information had already left, the few remaining never spoke of their husbands work, and she didn’t have a data pad to try and hack something. She could join the game the wives were currently playing, some offshoot of sabaac. Of course, she didn’t know how to play, and it seemed like the type of game an Imperial wife would know.

Not for the first time on an undercover mission like this, Jyn wondered how her life would’ve been different if they hadn’t gone to Lah’mu. The man in white had been prolific enough to make her father noteworthy in the eyes of the Empire. She probably would’ve grown up playing whatever game the wives were now playing, would know which forks to use when without having to remind herself, would genuinely know these women from childhood. Wouldn’t have had to face hardship and loneliness and devastation the same way.

But she wouldn’t have known Cassian, Bodhi, Baze, Chirrut, and Kay, either, and that was always enough to bring her back to herself.

The card game was definitely out, which left her with her thoughts and the giant bush of flowers beside her. She supposed she could rank them by which she thought was prettiest, except that she’d never been particularly keen on flowers and she’d probably look crazy if she did. Not that she didn’t look crazy just sitting by herself, silent.

_It’s childish, I know, but it helps pass the time._

Jyn reached forward and snagged one of the flowers before she thought better of it, the thorn hidden underneath jabbing into her thumb. She ignored the pain.

The flower was wide, with deep blue petals that made her think of Bodhi’s Imperial flight suit, the one it’d taken three years to give up. She tore the first petal, not thinking of the game she’d learned on Wobani, but of how when she’d come back, he’d been in bright orange and claimed he’d ripped it—his favorite, she knew, because it stood for bravery and courage and second chances—beyond mending.

The second petal fell the same way Baze’s tear had, with an arc, because he’d tried to hide it by turning his face and walking a way. The third petal was for Chirrut, and she swore it clapped the ground the way his staff had, steady and true and disappointed.

_That’s not how you play it._

_I’m not really one for rules._

Jyn let the petals drop, one by one, Bodhi, Baze, Chirrut, their reactions pounding in her head. They’d accepted her back reluctantly, enough to let her take meals with them if Cassian wasn’t there, but she knew her position was tenuous at best. She also knew that it was Baze who’d decided she could sit with them again, that it was his call that let her keep coming back, and that if she wasn’t careful enough, it’d be him who decided she couldn’t sit with them anymore. It was only fair, because he’d been there when she left, had to physically watch her go where the others only heard about it in retelling.

He hadn’t mentioned it since she returned, but she’d seen the quite agony in his eyes, the way he expected her to turn her back on him. She’d been careful not to, always sitting or standing with her back to the wall when he was around, never leaving a room before him. If he ever forgave her, they’d need to have a long conversation about that moment. It’d probably end with him mad at her again.

She’d just ended another loop—a petal for Chirrut’s jump when she’d sat next to him for a morning meditation and accidentally bumped his knee, a response her head had warped into being about how he’d probably thought her a ghost—when she realized she’d reached the last petal.

Cassian, then.

If she plucked all the flowers in the bush she wouldn’t have enough petals to drop to replay everything. The little reactions he’d had since she returned, the ones he probably didn’t know she’d noticed, since he was too busy ignoring her.

What if she’d been playing it properly all along? Would it be _he loves me_ or _he loves me not_? Jyn stared at the petal, as if it could tell her the answer. It wouldn’t, because it wasn’t sentient, which meant she had to decide.

Cassian wouldn’t tell her one way or the other what the answer was if he were here, but she did think she had a guess as to what he’d say: he’d tell her to hope.

 _He loves me_ , she decided, hoped, and let the petal drop.

It fluttered down, down, and before it could get past her knees, she snatched it back.

Hope wasn’t going to work.

Jyn ripped the petal and let half drop, then held the other half up to her face, resolute.

 _He loves me not_.

“I believe that’s cheating.”

Jyn jumped, her head snapping to the archway. The Warden was there, leaning against the doorway. There was no guessing how long he’d been there, observing, but she guessed it was a few minutes. The other wives had left, leaving her alone.

Cassian was taking way too long.

She held up the half petal. “Not if it gets the answer I want.”

“And what answer is that?”

“The truth.”

The Warden stared at her, head tilting as if it’d give him a better view of her. A second later, Jyn shifted, folding in on herself slightly, because it’d be very bad if the Warden got too good of a view of her.

“Have a good night, Gin,” he said, pushing off the door and stepping back into the corridor.

Fear swooped low in Jyn’s belly. She still wasn’t convinced the Warden knew who she was, but what if he was starting to put the pieces into place? What if there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head, telling him that she was familiar? He’d said it himself, he didn’t leave Wobani a lot. The first place to think to compare her to was the place he was in charge of and she’d actually been.

It’d be suicide to go after him. Could she really throw him off her scent? Make him think he remembered her from somewhere else, or that he was confusing her with someone else? Cassian was better at mind games than she was. What if she messed up, and revealed exactly who she was to him?

What if he figured it out anyway and went after not only her, but Cassian and Kay as well?

Cassian had said to risk it if it was worth it.

“Brem,” Jyn called, hurrying towards him, the half petal slipping out of her hand and drifting to the floor. She ignored the flip her stomach did at saying his name. “Cassein mentioned he had to make a stop at our ship before he came here. Could you walk me back to our suite? I don’t want to make us late for dinner.”

The Warden smiled. If she hadn’t been utterly repulsed by him and didn’t think Cassian’s smile that was especially for her wasn’t the best in the universe, she’d think he had a nice smile. She was repulsed by him and did think Cassian’s evasive smile was the best, so she found it more unsettling than pleasant.

_Focus. This is your job._

“Of course, Gin,” the Warden said, offering his arm. She took it, and was quite proud of herself for repressing her shudders. “Lead the way.”

She did, and doing so felt a little like leading him to the Alliance, though she knew they didn’t have any secrets here so pertinent that it’d ruin anything on Home One. Or maybe she was being escorted back to her cell, all the plushness and grandeur a delusion she’d been living.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, forcing herself to talk to him. “Our room is a bit out of the way.”

“Not at all,” the Warden said. “It’s rude to leave a lady waiting.”

Maybe he was just a creep. She could deal with creeps.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised,” he said. “Yesterday I was under the impression that I made you uncomfortable.”

 _Extremely_ , she silently amended.

“Cassein will have to tell you the story of the first time he saw me, then,” she said. “According to him, I looked completely miserable and a bit like an escaped convict.”

She realized her mistake immediately, knew this was the dumbest idea she’d ever had and that the risk was not worth it. But if the Warden noticed her slip, he didn’t tell. He just laughed heartily and grinned.

“I’ll have to give him a tour of Wobani, so he knows what an actual convict looks like. Even on a bad day, I’m sure you look stunning.”

Jyn gave the prettiest smile she could muster and didn’t point out that he knew perfectly well what a convict looked like.

This was probably why so many of the wives were infatuated with him. He knew to compliment, compliment, compliment, regardless if he actually thought it or not. With any luck, the war would be over soon and she’d never have to think about him again, wouldn’t have to use this alias and spend more time alone with him.

“I’m sure he’d like that,” she said. “He thinks the next project he’ll oversee will be the construction of a prison, because everyone’s saying the war’s almost at an end.”

“Even if it isn’t, there’s certainly a demand for more cells,” the Warden said, then looked at her. “Do you really wish to talk about your husband’s work?”

Jyn looked away, a child caught reaching for sweets. “No, not really.”

She wished she’d thought this out more, that Cassian was here with her, that he hadn’t told her to risk it. Even if she spent the entire time warning him _careful, stop, no_ , at least she would’ve felt safe. How was she supposed to throw him off her tail when the only thing they had in common was Wobani? How did she convince a monster she wasn’t the ideal prey?

The same way a thief successfully stole.

“You’re not worried about the possible end of the war?”

The Warden glanced at her again. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t,” she said, then forced as much concern as she could into her voice, “but I worry what it’ll do to my husband.”

“Do you think we’re going to lose?” he asked. His voice sounded off, almost strangled.

“Cassein thinks we’ll win, but one of us has to worry about the other possibility.” She dropped her voice. “Is it true they stole something important?”

The arm she was holding stiffened, pinching her hand in its crease a little more tightly. “I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t my prison.”

“Of course not,” she agreed, voice light and airy. She turned and winked at him. “You’re too smart for that.”

It was a favorite tactic of the wives when they were being too obvious. Turn light and airy and oblivious, compliment the hell out of the other person. Being obvious didn’t matter. It was expected. Gossip had to flow, and everyone had something to give, even her. If she pressed hard enough, he’d think her nothing more than another gossiping wife. The brief look he shot at her already implied as much.

“I always forget about this part,” he admitted, gesturing to the space between them. “The back and forth.”

“The gossip?” she asked, because a small part of her was certain he’d been about to say ‘the mind games.’ “I thought you were exaggerating when you said you rarely left your prison.”

He snorted. “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s not so bad, if you have something to offer.”

“Do you have something to offer?”

Jyn shrugged. “That depends.”

The Warden studied her for a long moment. “How about peace of mind?”

Her gut dropped low for a dizzying second. It made her think of any time Bodhi, Cassian, or Kay had to perform ‘evasive maneuvers’ and spun the ship too sharply. It wasn’t something she enjoyed.

“What makes you think I don’t have that?”

“You’re not worried about losing?”

“Hardly,” she said, forcing them to slow as they rounded a corner. They were almost there. “I only entertain the possibility so Cassein doesn’t have to. It makes him feel like a hero when he can quell my fears.”

The Warden was silent for a long moment, their footsteps echoing off the walls. She didn’t know him well enough to gauge what he was thinking, but more than likely she hadn’t done anything good for Cassian’s reputation. If there was one thing Imperial men didn’t like, it was knowing how influential women were. How much more they knew than they let on.

“All right,” he said at length. “What can I offer you?”

“I think you know that.”

He blew a breath out of his nose. “And what can you offer me?”

“How about peace of mind?”

“What makes you think I don’t have that?” he echoed.

“You’re worried about your meeting with Caplan,” she said. Technically, Ginevra and Cassein weren’t that close to Admiral Nural, but the Warden didn’t know that. “Hard to reconnect with old friends ‘of a sort?’”

The Warden shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier than breathing.”

“When do you meet with him?” she asked, undeterred. If this alias had taught her anything, it was that when wives were on a roll, they didn’t stop.

“The day after tomorrow.”

Hope clawed its way through Jyn like a beast ready to escape. No, not a beast. A convict. A convict ready to escape, to feel sunshine and warmth.

They’d be leaving the day after tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally lucky.

“You already know what I want,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I’ll find a way to give you the upper hand with him.”

They stopped outside the suite door, the Warden studying her for a long moment. Then, he smiled. “Tomorrow during the gala, then?”

“I’ll find you,” she said, turning and opening the door. “Have a good night, Brem.”

“You as well, Gin.”

She smiled and shut the door, just another Imperial wife.

* * *

“It’s just me, Kay,” Jyn called as she entered the suite. “Cassian should be back soon.”

The droid didn’t answer, but Jyn didn’t care. She felt giddier than she could ever remember feeling. She’d confronted the Warden, alone, and walked away unscathed. It felt a little like her confrontation with the man in white, the thrill she’d felt being able to tell him he’d failed and who she was. Cassian hadn’t been there to rescue her this time, but that didn’t matter. She hadn’t needed it.

What had she done? She’d _won_.

Cassian would probably be a bit agitated when he got back—unexplained disappearances on missions, however temporary, still carried a lot of weight and tension—but when she told him about this? It wouldn’t get her back in his good graces entirely, but he’d be proud and maybe thaw a little more, and those were things she could live with.

“Kay?” She frowned, the giddiness faltering into something a little more anxious. Kay wasn’t supposed to leave the suite if they weren’t here, in case somebody tried to break in and bug the room. He hadn’t liked it, but had conceded that it was better than being stuck on the ship.

Jyn stepped into the bedroom and froze. Cassian was there, leaning against the headboard in the nicer clothes he’d wear to dinner. There was a data pad on his lap, but he’d let it fall back when she’d stepped into the room, the blue-tinted screen staring at the ceiling for attention. His focus was entirely on her, and it wasn’t stern. The edges and points of him were smoother, the way she’d gotten used to seeing. His eyes were watching her every breath but not stopping her from breathing, his shoulders were a line but not so sharp as to be unwelcoming, and his mouth had curved into a small smile he wore when he was impressed.

It was him how he’d once been, the version she wanted to win back more than anything. It was an act that told her everything at once.

There was only one way to their suite that wouldn’t set off any alarms. She and the Warden had taken it, had slowed down to extend their conversation because they’d needed it. She’d needed it. If he’d been coming from the ship, Cassian would’ve had to pass them along the way. The fact that he hadn’t meant that he’d been in this room all along. And if he’d been here all along, then he’d always planned for her to be alone with the Warden.

The high she’d felt slithered out of her, another victory she’d grasped but couldn’t keep.

“When?” she asked, the word so soft she wasn’t sure it truly broke the silence.

He frowned and tilted his head. “When what?”

“The Warden,” she said, still soft, still unable to reunite her mind and tongue and produce more words.

“Ah,” Cassian said, glancing down, almost sheepish, almost afraid. If nothing else, at least he knew how to gain a lot from very little. “I had to know—”

“When?” she repeated, demanded, voice a little firmer, trying to reclaim what she could of her victory.

“Yesterday, when you said you weren’t sure.”

She’d been wrong at breakfast. He was heartless enough to throw her to the rancor. Even worse, he’d held her hand last night, comforted her. It reminded her suddenly of the first planet she’d visited with Saw, how between learning to fire a blaster and wield a truncheon, he’d made her spend hours watching from a cliff as a nerf herder lead several to their slaughter.

_That’s our job. Make them think you're not going to do what you're going to do._

Cassian had fooled her, but he hadn’t killed her yet. It’d be his mistake.

“Your plan worked,” she said, stepping into the room, going for her earrings, the pins keeping her hair up high. Now that she was moving she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. “Has Kay already sung your praises, or am I supposed to?”

“Jyn, we had to know,” he said. She wasn’t sure if the we was supposed to be her and him or him and Kay or all three of them. “You did an excellent job.”

“Stop saying that,” she hissed, whirling on him. “I did my job. If I defy death, then it’s an excellent job.”

“Didn’t you?”

She paused, considering him. In a way she had defied death, because if she’d messed up she’d be on her way back to Wobani or dead right now. The reminder only served to prove how much danger he’d put her in, how grand the prize she’d thought she’d won had been. It was more than just that, though. She’d felt like she’d done the impossible. Like she was a victor. A hero.

“What happened to ‘no deaths?’”

He held his hands splayed before him. “What do you want me to say, Jyn? It was a risk but you said it worked. We don’t have to worry about the Warden.”

What did she want him to say? That he was sorry, that he’d messed up? An explanation for how he could do that to her without warning? How he could know what he was going to do but still comfort her?

Maybe it went beyond this moment. An apology for being an ass would be nice. One on behalf of Kay wouldn’t be bad either, since the droid would never do that. A promise to get Bodhi and Baze and Chirrut to apologize as well wouldn’t hurt.

Something to reaffirm that she could trust him, that he trusted her.

There was so much she wanted from him, but all she could manage was, “What’s the point?”

He was quiet. Her question had thrown him. It wouldn’t stop ringing in her head.

“I’ll work on my report,” she said, when the silence seemed to have settled over the whole of Naboo. “I don’t think Gin would be up for a night out after a long day. You should still go, though.”

Cassian still hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t need to. She’d made his decision for him, and had the decency to let him know.

* * *

Jyn didn’t feel better several hours later, but she’d certainly felt worse. She’d written her report and included as many verbatim sentences as she could remember (and ignored the tiny spark that was trying to reignite within her at the clever parts), as well as noted anything she deemed to be “of significance,” because that’s what Cassian always did in his reports.

He’d probably tell her she did an ‘excellent job’ just for that alone.

“Finally pick one of the wives off Kay’s list?” she tried asking lightly when he finally came back, a bouquet of bright flowers in hand. “He had Inta fairly high, but I think Sassa would be better.”

“They’re for you,” he said, offering them to her.

She didn’t take them. “I’m not a flower girl.”

“I know,” he said, giving her a brief, wan smile, “but if I bought a dagger it’d look suspicious.” He nudged the flowers towards her again. “This is the part where you take them.”

She eyed them again. They were pretty, a vibrant burst of yellows and pinks and oranges, nothing like the deep blue flower she’d picked earlier. Cassian knew she wasn’t one for flowers, and even if she had been, she wouldn’t be one for the bright, eye catching ones.

“Are they supposed to be an apology?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, voice a little breathless, an actor moving into the next scene. “I put you in unnecessary danger. It was a mistake.”

She glanced at his face, watched emotions forcefully crawl onto it. It reminded her a little of how she’d felt climbing out of the bunker, first to Saw, then alone. The darkness, the loneliness, however awful, had also become a comfort, and she’d had to leave it. Now here he was, forcing feelings he thought he should feel onto a face that preferred to be blank.

These were just motions, then. A concession that he’d messed up, the best resolution he could come up with in the circumstances. She wanted him honest, and maybe a little hurt.

“If you can’t trust someone, you can’t trust them.”

“I do,” he said, “trust you.” She gave him a disbelieving look. He worked his jaw. “I want to trust you. For the most part, I do.”

Jyn snorted softly. “I still deserved it.”

“Why do you think you deserve everything bad?”

“Do you honestly think I deserve nice things?”

“Some, at least,” he said, shrugging.

She knew she should start light, make it a game and keep building towards the end prize. But she couldn’t stop herself from immediately asking, “Do I deserve you?”

Cassian stared at her, then bit his lip and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m still angry, Jyn. You don’t get to take that away.”

“So, no, I don’t,” she supplied, shrugging. It stung, but at least she had an answer.

Silence fell over them, weighted, nearly oppressing. One that needed to be broken, to be lifted off their shoulders. He’d set the flowers down on the table when it’d become clear she wouldn’t take them, and they too seemed to be feeling the strain, sagging into the hard surface, defeated.

“I never did apologize for leaving,” she said. “Or for—the other part.”

Cassian shifted, a shadow crossing his face. She was touching a particularly sensitive nerve. “No, you didn’t.”

“Would it be worth anything if I did?”

“All apologies are worth something.”

“You’re not really sorry for what you did.”

“Are you sorry for leaving us?”

Jyn frowned, twisting her hands in her lap. _More than anything_. She’d known what leaving would do to them, how it’d fracture them. She’d taken the necessary steps to ease as much of it as possible. It hadn’t changed the hurt, had only helped because what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. But she’d still went, because sometimes the hard call had to be made and even if they didn’t get it now, one day they would. One day they’d see it’d all been for them.

“Yes and no,” she said at length. “Yes, because I hurt all of you, but no, because it was the right thing to do.”

Cassian’s voice was sharper than any dagger he could’ve bought. “Since when is destroying your family the right thing?”

Jyn blinked, then smiled sadly. The mask had finally cracked. She still couldn’t see all of him, doubted she ever would again, but there was plenty to be taken from what she’d chipped away. He was angry, as he’d said, but it was different. When he’d said it last night, it hadn’t sounded like he was angry-angry, but frustrated-angry. Now, it was obvious he was well and truly angry, and not just at her. At the situation, and puzzle pieces he couldn’t fit together, and even at himself, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. Probably because he’d let himself be vulnerable and love her, pick her.

That was there, too, the vulnerability, tucked in the corners of the anger like a child behind a parents leg. She knew it was the last part of him he wanted to show, that she was among the few that’d ever seen it openly. Their time together had changed both of them, and her leaving had fundamentally changed him, just as it’d changed her. She had no doubt he’d find it harder to trust now; maybe she’d broken that portion of him entirely. He’d certainly fractured her ability to hope with his reaction when she’d returned.

It hadn’t been much of a reaction, either. Just a once over, a pivot, and a retreating back, done and over with in the blink of an eye.

“If you want to interrogate me,” she said quietly, “it has to be fair. Quid pro quo.”

“You weren’t being fair when you left,” he spat, hackles still raised.

How odd it was, to see him in her place, and he in hers. Odder still that she didn’t rise to the bait.

“Did you know you could’ve killed me by getting me alone with the Warden?”

Cassian glared at her, before blowing a sharp breath out of his nose. “Yes, but I ran the risk with Kay. You doing what you did had a greater success rate.”

Jyn nodded, the hurt still a river coursing through her, but smaller now, one that was shrinking. She gestured expectantly towards Cassian.

“Why did you go?” he asked, voice still tight.

“Because I had to.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Now isn’t the best time to explain but on the flight back, I swear I’ll explain everything.”

Cassian’s lips pressed into a flat line and he rolled his eyes, agitated with her answer (and she couldn’t fault him for that because she was truly the one who owed the most explanations), but he nodded anyway. “Okay. On the flight home. Your turn.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest, acutely aware that he’d said ‘home’ where she’d said ‘back.’

“Did you get Kay from Geonosis because of my suggestion?”

He gave a quick, startled laugh that was barely more than a huff. “Yes. We were trying to find droid warehouses and I remembered you’d mentioned that.” His face sobered. “How did you know about the prison riot on Vallt?”

“Ramin mentioned it,” she said, then winced. Cassian’s eyebrows had shot up. She could practically see his mind working, spinning, trying to connect the pieces into place. Ramin was a fellow intelligence officer that Cassian had never liked and Jyn had always found to be a bit like her. “I ran into him on a backwater planet. He thought I was undercover.”

A frown settled on Cassian’s face, still working with the puzzles, trying to recall what he could of Ramin’s reports. She doubted he’d read many of them, if any at all.

“If we’re wrong and the Warden did recognize me and just played along—if he takes me back to Wobani, would you get me out again?”

“That’s a lot of what ifs,” he said, sinking back into his chair, the puzzle of Ramin slipping to the back of his mind for now. “But it’d be my fault for getting you sent back there, so I’d try my hardest to get you back.” It was a non-answer, but it told her enough. Only if it was his fault, and he wasn’t making promises. “Why did you come back?”

“Because I had to,” she repeated, then twisted her lips. “And because I didn’t die.”

“Did you think you were going to die?”

“It’s my turn,” she pointed out. “Would an apology from me be worth anything?”

He shifted, staring up at the ceiling. She watched as he took several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling smoothly. If it went on long enough, she could convince herself he was asleep.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe more than you think it would, but not as much as you want. Did you think you were going to die?”

“Constantly. How much do you think I want it to be worth?”

“You want it to fix everything,” Cassian said, unbothered, as if he’d known this all along. He probably had. “It won’t, but it’d help. Who took the lullaby?”

In her chest, Jyn’s heart gave a painful squeeze, both from his answer and his question. “A friend. You would’ve liked her. Very hopeful.” She paused, twisting her hands together and wringing them. “What did you think when I came back?”

“That you had the audacity to come back at all,” he snorted, then paused, the derision fading away. “Your story, too, about how you thought I was—” his jaw worked, biting off the next word, “beautiful, for coming back at the tower.”

“You thought I was beautiful?”

“It’s my turn,” he said softly, not quite looking at her, “but I just thought of you telling me it.” If he had thought her beautiful, he wasn’t going to admit it. “Was it easy? Leaving?”

“The hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

He cleared his throat, shifted again in his seat. “Would you do it again?”

She knew he wanted her to sit back and consider, to feel the weight of the question, to know the ramifications her answer would have. If she could’ve stopped and considered, she would’ve. She couldn’t, not when she knew the answer as well as her name.

“Yes.”

Cassian sucked in a quick breath and glared at the ceiling. “Your turn.”

“Did you marry Ginevra and Cassein because I—” she swallowed awkwardly, and gestured vaguely between them, “—because—you know.”

The lines around his eyes became more pronounced. She could see his throat moved as he swallowed. “I don’t know. It wasn’t intentional or planned but—” it was his turn to gesture vaguely between them “—it’s possible.”

Jyn pursed her lips and nodded. If she hadn’t come back, at least a small fragment of him, even ifit was just an alias, would’ve had her unconditionally.

“Do you still love me?”

She jerked, looking up at him. He hadn’t turned to face her, but she knew he was watching form the corner of his eye.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing around the stone that’d wedged itself in her throat. She knew better than to ask the same question in return. He’d made it clear last night, and then again today. She’d meant something, but didn’t anymore.

That left her with only one other question. One she hadn’t wanted to bring up, not now, not ever, but needed to, for both their sakes.

“How much do you hate me?”

Cassian did turn at that, watching her carefully. “How much do you think I hate you?”

“That’s not how this works.”

“You asked how much I hate you, but that’s a spectrum.” He shrugged. “I need to know parameters.”

“All right,” Jyn said, clasping her hands on her lap and staring at them hard. “If I was dying on the ground right now, you would help me, but you’d hesitate before you did.”

Cassian frowned. “And that hesitation makes you think I hate you? I didn’t hesitate yesterday when I thought you’d been poisoned.”

It was a good point, but she still shrugged. He’d asked for parameters and she’d given them.

“I want to hate you more than I do,” he said. “Take from that what you will.”

She wanted to take something from it, but doing so felt like a mistake. Like it’d bring her hopes up and her head knew better than to do that again.

“Last question,” he said, as if he knew she’d asked her final question. “Do you think we should forgive you?”

“I think you will.” She shrugged, could see his face and _That’s not technically an answer_ , written there. “I’m hopeful you will.”

She felt a little bad saying it, knowing that any time she said ‘hope,’ it’d get through to him like no other word could.

“Tomorrow,” Cassian started, then paused, staring forward and preparing himself for a blow. Jyn tensed. “Trust goes both ways.”

It took her a minute to realize what he’d said. The discordance between one sentence and the next had been so out of place for him that she’d let herself be fascinated by it. Then the words—her words—slammed into her.

“You said you trust me for the most part.”

“And you just said you think I’d risk letting you die,” he countered. “We need to be better than that tomorrow. I’ll trust your calls, and you need to trust that I won’t let you die.”

Jyn studied him, then nodded. They weren’t fixed, still had a minefield to cross before that could happen, but this would be the start. Trust would always be the start for them. And if they couldn’t go back to how they’d been, maybe she could find comfort in what they’d become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not saying we have vodka to thank for the last part, but it really clicked into place after I bought a bottle, so I think it’d be polite to thank vodka.
> 
> I think it’s also worth noting that in the original draft I considered this the “happy chapter” and now it’s decidedly just as angsty as the rest of them. I’m sorry, but also not.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late post, I'm sorry, but when you have the option for a last minute Disney trip, you take it. I have a Baby Yoda cup and zero regrets.

The adrenaline hit Jyn before she even stepped into the ballroom. It’d surged through her while she was getting ready, electrifying her from soul to extremities. She felt like an open wire waiting to be touched, to shock and spark and sizzle.

Kay had been deeply annoyed by her star-burst level of energy. She’d paced the room in the hopes it’d sharpen her focus, and he’d called times as she completed circuits around the suite. He’d even developed a point system and deducted any time she turned around and backtracked. Cassian had been a bit annoyed too, but he’d let her pace when forcing her to sit had resulted in a discordant drumming of fingers and feet.

Now, crossing into the ballroom, Jyn got the distinct feeling he was letting her loose—not to make total chaos like she would on other missions, but some. Enough that the bitter tang of her energy would fade away and she’d be cool, calm, and collected once more. Or, at least, as cool, calm, and collected as she could be.

She still felt raw from the previous evening, knew that Cassian felt similar. He’d put a great deal of effort into showing he trusted her throughout the day, even going so far as to blindly fall back into her arms at times, a test Draven had shown him. Kay had been utterly baffled by this, but she’d been too preoccupied with the image of Draven falling backwards into Cassian’s arms to fully enjoy Kay’s reaction.

Jyn had tried to demonstrate her own trust as many times as she could, and the effort had evidently been enough for Cassian. He’d caught her the few times he’d made her fall backwards, and she hadn’t dared to admit just how helpful that small demonstration of trust was.

Would it all be enough to sway him? The little moments stacking one on top of the other into something greater, something that could overshadow all the deceptions and broken hearts she’d left in her wake? Jyn wasn’t certain, but hope had started coursing through her again with each pump of adrenaline.

In twelve hours, she’d have her verdict.

They’d also be away from Naboo and the Warden in twelve hours, and she was looking forward to that as much as she was to knowing if she’d get a second chance.

“What are you going to tell the Warden that he wants to know?” Cassian had asked after he’d read her report.

Jyn had shrugged, not looking up from the game of sabaac she’d been playing on her datapad. “I figured the Admiral would have something about his meeting with the Warden that we would copy.”

“We’re already going to be pressed for time just getting the list of war profiteers and strategies,” he’d said, and she could heard the frown in his voice.

“And the shuttle codes,” she reminded him, glancing up. There was no point in pretending the side mission was hers alone anymore. “If I have to make something up, I will. We’ll be gone the next day. Probably before they even sit down.”

Cassian’s lips had pressed into a thin line. “That could compromise these covers.”

“It’s a fail safe.”

She’d wanted to say more, like how they’d hopefully be able to stuff Cassein and Gin into boxes never to be used again. She hadn’t. Thinking or talking about the end of the war had always been a taboo in the Alliance, just as the inevitable start had always been a taboo for the rebellion.

Not that she could fault them for it. Inevitability was a strange sensation at the best of times and utterly terrifying at the worst. It could be prolonged and dodged, but it was also unavoidable, making the fine line between choice and fate impossible to read. It was a pit in a stomach that was flying high.

“You’re still too nervous,” Cassian said now as he wrapped his arm around her waist. “You need to settle.”

“I’m trying,” she muttered. “I can’t help it.”

He hummed and steered them towards a group of officers Cassein frequently mingled with. “I know, but the last thing we need is anyone noticing something off.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. “Everyone is off tonight.”

“I know,” he said through his teeth, and she could hear the unspoken, _I don’t know what to do about it_.

It was true. Everyone _was_ off, and for no discernible reason. They were all casting glances about and speaking with heads pressed close and voices low, but there wasn’t a single source. It was normal to see some of this behavior during a gala, small groups tucked into corners, creating and spreading gossip they hadn’t gotten to before. If everyone was doing it, it usually meant someone had messed up royally and everyone knew and kept looking towards them.

Tonight, though, everyone was turning towards everyone, and that said too much and not enough. Something big had happened, it involved a lot of people, but there was nothing certain.

“Cassein,” the officer that reminded her of Bodhi said. “What are your orders?”

Jyn frowned and glanced at Cassian, happy to not be in his shoes. Her reaction would’ve been too obvious, too startled. He was the masterclass spy, though, and able to conceal his surprise just by squeezing her hip.

“Haven’t gotten them yet,” he said. “But I haven’t checked my comm since earlier this afternoon, either. I’m sure I’ll see them when we get back tonight.”

“Lucky you,” the officer said. “I’ll probably have to leave right after the fireworks.”

“You’re being called back?” Jyn asked, trying to keep the incredulity from her voice. Surprise was okay, but anything beyond would be suspicious. Even the Empire couldn’t avoid last minute changes to plans.

“Yeah,” the officer huffed. “It sounds like most of us got the same command. You’ll probably be okay, though. Not sure what an architect could do during a fight.”

“It’ll be a fight?” Cassian asked, the hand tightening more. “They’ll probably have me look into prison capacities and unused locations, then.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nothing,” the officer said, and made sure to give Jyn a reassuring glance. “The rebellion just needs to be reminded of its place.”

“Of course,” she said, but all she could think was, _It’ll all be over soon_. She wasn’t sure if the taste in her mouth was fear, bile, or victory.

“When did they comm you?” Cassian asked.

“Right before I walked out the door,” he said, then gestured to another officer in the group they joined. “He said he got his hours ago.”

The other officers were quick to say what time they’d received their summons. Most had similar orders, and if they weren’t leaving that night, they were leaving early the next morning. A sudden mass exodus wouldn’t affect her or Cassian’s plans, but the added cover of many ships flying out had its benefits. It’d be nigh impossible to single them out at the last second.

Nobody said what their exact orders were, though, and the more people they talked to, the more Jyn suspected their orders were little more than a time, a location, and a reminder to be discreet.

She hated how non-specific the orders were. Worse yet, the few locations that had been mentioned were all different with no repeats. The planets weren’t the same, the systems weren’t the same, even the rims didn’t have a pattern. Some people were in the inner rim, and some in the far reaches, and there was no underlying pattern for her to notice. There weren’t even any Alliance bases or outposts near those locations that could be targeted.

More than once, she glanced at Cassian and knew he was thinking similarly to her. Another puzzle that needed to be solved, with great, gaping spaces between everything.

 _But,_ Jyn thought as the Admiral stepped into the ballroom, _there’s always a key_.

* * *

They waited until fireworks lit up the sky and the Festival of Lights was truly under way before throwing their plan into motion.

They slipped through the hallways like they owned them, and when they found the Admiral’s room, Cassian had the door unlocked and open within half a minute. Jyn, not wanting to be outdone, hacked the data pad two seconds faster. They held their breaths as the information downloaded, then slid everything back into place when it pinged.

Neither of them said a word, but they hadn’t needed to. Looks and gestures had said everything.

The first time they’d been undercover together she’d been terrified, nearly mute every time she spoke to an officer and it’d taken her two whole minutes to hack a data pad that had an encryption as difficult as a door lock. Cassian had promised it’d get easier, and it had.

Now, four years later, they were a better oiled machine than Kay.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being Cassian’s partner. And not just the sexual side of their partnership, but the field one. The one where she knew if she ran into a situation, he would be at her heels to back her up. Where every plan that unfurled in his mind also unfurled in hers, like they were one conscious in two bodies.

She hadn’t realized she’d been missing her other half. Something significant, yes, but not something essential. She wondered how she’d managed without it.

They stepped into the empty elevator, settling against the back wall. Cassian shut his eyes and breathed deeply as soon as the doors shut. She knew better than to interrupt, that he needed this moment to drop the tension he was carrying. Instead she stared at him, the dark hair that he’d slicked back and the beard he’d trimmed, the lines that’d become scars beside his eyes and the vein by his temple that always ticked when he was anxious.

Settling was the last thing she wanted, but she’d settle for this, for missions with him, if it meant having even a small piece of him.

“Will you bite my head off if I say good job?”

Jyn blinked, her head jerking back slightly. His lips had barely moved, his voice nothing more than a puff of air. When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes and let his head loll towards her.

“I guess we sort of defied death,” she said softly, “so, no.”

The corner of his lip ticked up. “I thought if we did that I was allowed to say ‘excellent job.’”

“Good job, excellent job, great job,” she ticked them off on her fingers and shrugged, “they’re all the same.”

The elevator came to a halt, letting them off at the main floor. She looped her arm through Cassian’s, elbow to elbow, trying to press herself as close as possible. He lead her to the gardens and found an isolated spot where they could lean against the balcony side by side and stare at the sky like a happy couple of newlyweds.

 _You can’t think like that_ , she told herself. _You’ll destroy yourself_.

More often than not, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to not destroy herself.

“Does it have to be so grim?” Cassian asked quietly, leaning towards her until their shoulders were pressed together.

She shrugged. “It’s hard to justify saying if it isn’t.”

She could feel his gaze on the side of her head like a too close flame, his eyes seeking the corner of hers, trying to get her to turn and look. He huffed when she didn’t. “You can be hopeful, you know.”

Jyn glared at the stars. Every time she did, a small part of her swore she could do anything, like fly a U-Wing or take on the Death Star alone or ramble off odds better than Kay. It felt good while it lasted, great even, but she could see the bits of her leaving every time it did, the growing hollowness. How long until it consumed her?

Hours, if Cassian rejected her.

“It’s not as simple as that,” she said.

She could feel his frown without even looking at him, because to Cassian Andor, hope was the most important thing in the universe. And while it was a good fail safe for when everything looked bleak, it was easier when those things were small instead of big.

“We didn’t get the shuttle codes,” Jyn said, her head whipping up, the movement knocking a curl loose from her updo. “We have to go back.”

Cassian blinked in surprise, then shook his head. “Too risky. We’ll just have to say we couldn’t find them.”

She shook her head, far more fervently than he had his. “We need them.”

“There isn’t time,” Cassian insisted, reaching up to tuck the curl back. “It’s okay. I’ll take the blame for it.”

She shook her head again, the hotel’s layout already unfurling in her mind. If she weren’t wearing a dress, she could scale the side. Finding the exact balcony would rely on luck and the Force, but Jyn was fairly confident she’d be able to do it. Or she could climb into another elevator shaft, though she hadn’t seen a way to access it from inside the elevator.

“You don’t need to be a hero,” Cassian said, his forehead nearly touching hers. She could feel it just starting to press against her bangs.

He was so close. If she leaned in, she’d be able to kiss him. She wasn’t sure he’d pull away.

Jyn stepped back. “Yes, I do.”

The edges of his face hardened, the mask creeping in, ready to slide into place. He huffed and turned away, and that quick puff of air made her think maybe he’d wanted to kiss her too.

She forced the thought away. It’d only distract her, and if she was distracted, she would fail.

“You’re serious?” he asked, glancing over at her then away, shaking his head. “Of course you are.”

“I can do it,” she said, hoping she’d take some of the courage from her voice and feel it in her soul. “I’ll be back.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. How many times had he thought that? Probably just enough so that when she did make it back, all that was left to feel was anger.

“I didn’t apologize yesterday,” she said softly. “I know it won’t fix everything and I’m okay with that.” She paused, then shrugged. “Actually, I hate it, but if you can forgive me before I die, I’ll learn to live with it.”

Cassian gave a quick, sharp laugh, before turning his focus solely to her. His eyes were dark and steady and hopeful. It flooded her with warmth.

“I don’t think it’ll take that long,” he said. Jyn had to bite her lip to contain her grin, and it still leaked onto her face like an overflowing bowl.

“Regardless,” she said, forcing her face to sober, “I’m sorry. For everything.” She swallowed, and she didn’t have to pretend anymore. “I know I said I’d do it again, but I would’ve changed how I broke your heart. I was cruel.”

He flinched. “You were.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you, either, if I’d known I was going to leave,” she added in a rush. “I know that meant a lot to you.”

He looked down and fiddled with his sleeves, then glanced at her. “Did you ever want to?”

“Yes,” she said, wanting to say more but unable to. How could she say something like ‘more than anything’ or ‘you’re all I’ve ever wanted’ when she’d proceeded to leave and shatter his heart? He deserved better than that. Better than her.

He nodded slowly. “Then you don’t have to apologize for that part.”

“You don’t have to excuse that if you don’t want to,” she said, because she couldn’t fathom him not being upset about that part. “You can be angry for all of it.”

“If I hadn’t asked, you never would’ve had to lose it, too.”

Jyn swallowed. Everything was starting to feel too heavy, too tenuous. She’d pointedly ignored that she’d lost him as much as he’d lost her. Ignored that she’d lost something she hadn’t ever known she wanted, not until he’d asked.

“I should get going,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

Cassian nodded, giving her a small wave before turning to lean against the balcony and stare at the fireworks. Jyn forced herself to look away and pretended she hadn’t noticed just how much his shoulders had sagged.

* * *

Sometimes, on missions like these, Jyn worried about the Empire. Not about what their next plans for finding the Alliance were—that was a concern that never went away—but about how they functioned on a daily scale. Maybe the Alliance wasn’t sending enough spies to invest these parties and steal their secrets. It was almost laughably easy.

The rumor mill was hot tonight. There were other couples in the hallways, ducking in and out of suites, darting into alcoves where others waited. Few actually tried to be less conspicuous, and their trying stuck out even more sharply than the ones blatantly participating.

Jyn slowed as she neared the Admiral’s room, ducking into an alcove. He and his wife had been in the ballroom when she’d passed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still be caught. After a few moments, she dared to step forward, nearly out of the shadows when the door slid open. She snapped back, tucking herself against the wall again and holding her breath.

The Warden passed her hiding spot, oblivious, his shoes clicking against the floor rhythmically. Jyn didn’t move, not even when the clicking stopped and the elevator slid open.

If she stayed still long enough, maybe the paint on the wall would consume her and she’d become part of it forever. Maybe the drapes covering this particular alcove would wrap themselves around her throat before she could be caught.

Or maybe she was losing her mind over nothing, the danger long gone.

Jyn darted towards the door. It took her five more seconds than it had Cassian, but then she was inside again, heading for the study. The Admiral’s data pad lit up for her like an old friend, but as she swiped through different spots, she found nothing. No shuttle codes, new or old. She’d taken blows to the stomach easier than she took this hit.

She worked her jaw as she entered the main suite, a quick reflection catching her eye. Another data pad. His wife’s, probably. It’d be an odd place to put it, especially considering there was far more sensitive information on his data pad, but maybe.

There wasn’t a ton of time she could spare, but she also wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity.

Jyn took the data pad and reentered the study, making sure the door was open a little. There were plenty of hiding spaces in here, and if she absolutely needed to she could sneak out onto the balcony and work her way to her own. The data pad lit up immediately, not even password protected, and there, without even a basic encryption, was a file full of clearance codes.

Laughably easy indeed.

Jyn downloaded the file and put the data pad back, a thrill running through her as she stepped back into the hallway, Cassian already on her mind. He’d probably still be a little annoyed tonight about her going back, but on the flight home he’d understand. Maybe he’d even sing her praises.

In the morning, she’d fulfill her promise, and there would be no secrets.

* * *

Jyn could only taste victory as she swept into the ballroom, the data chip with the shuttle codes tucked securely into the waistband of her dress. She’d thought she’d been electrified earlier, but it was barely a shadow compared to this.

If things had been different, she imagined this was what the aftermath of Scarif would’ve felt like. Cassian probably hadn’t ever experienced this feeling if he could only fathom making ten men feel like a hundred. Right now, she could make one person feel like a hundred, and if pressed, more. With a little luck, he’d get to experience this soon as well.

She knew that her joy was an outlier, that all the other wives were starting to fret because of the cloud swirling over their husbands. If she hadn’t been away for so long, she probably would’ve acted just like them. But she couldn’t stop the lightness in her chest, couldn’t force herself to act any differently, and Cassian mercifully wasn’t trying to snuff it out.

Was he starting to suspect it too? Was he letting the one hope he’d tried to ignore creep into his head?

“You’re happy,” he noted as she took her place beside him.

“It’s everything I thought it would be,” she said, in case anyone was listening. She knew he’d understand the underneath, the relief of having everything work. When she told him the truth on the way home, he’d understand even more clearly.

Across the room, she saw the Warden watching them like an appraiser. It reminded Jyn of an ak, though she’d only ever heard of the species native to Bothawui in story. A bird of prey with keen eyes and a sharp beak, that liked to dive from high above to snag its prey. She couldn’t wait to leave; she didn’t want to be here when he swooped.

“How long until we can go?” she whispered, her lips beside his ear.

“A few minutes,” he said. “The Admiral apparently wants to speak to everyone first.”

Jyn frowned, pulling back just enough to get a clear view of his face. Cassian shook his head, and she could see the annoyance in his eyes as there was yet another unsolvable puzzle. Hopefully it would be the piece that connected everything together, or at least offer a good chunk of it.

But as more people entered the room, Jyn grew more uneasy. Saw had occasionally called for mass meetings. They were raucous and packed, sometimes so much so that smaller beings—including Jyn a handful of times—had been hoisted onto shoulders just so more people could fit, and there were only ever two reasons: a rally cry before a massive strike, or the beheading of an enemy.

She’d never been able to anticipate which it’d be.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, a giant chorus of perfectly in sync motions. Her dread grew.

The admiral marched in, a flock of stormtroopers behind him. The whole room fell silent. Jyn wasn’t sure if the thudding in her ears was her heart, Cassian’s, or one of the other officers a few feet away from them. Maybe it was all their hearts collectively, beating fast enough that they were all in tune.

Stormtroopers didn’t show up at Imperial galas. They guarded the edges of the property, but never crossed into it. It didn’t matter that these officers constantly worked around or were guarded by stormtroopers. Their presence was out of place and wrong here, and therefore it made the officers uneasy.

“Everyone,” the Admiral said, stopping in the center of the ballroom, the stormtroopers a loose, wide circle around him. “We have quite the problem.”

The entire room shuddered as everyone inhaled.

“I’ll admit I thought better of you all,” the Admiral continued, unbothered. “But I’m not surprised.”

Jyn frowned and glanced around the room, noticed that many others were doing the same. Cassian’s fingers dug into her hip. It was both reassuring to know he was just as nervous as her, and utterly terrifying.

“There are thieves among us.”

A flood of noise erupted through the room as everyone turned towards everyone, eyeing, speculating. Jyn glanced at the Warden, and was surprised to find his eyes were just as wide and filled with fear as the rest of them.

Almost the rest of them. At her side, Cassian let out a soft breath, as if this wasn’t a giant danger for them. But they’d never been caught on an op like this before, even when they were being actively hunted. For once, they weren’t the only thieves, and that made it all the easier to slip under the radar.

“I understand you’re all nervous about what’s to come, but that’s not necessary.” He spun slowly, made sure he faced the entire room, locked eyes with as many people as possible. “If you do not trust your superiors, we cannot trust you.”

Several people shifted uneasily, and though she couldn’t see their faces, Jyn could almost see the stormtroopers cataloguing their faces.

“Now, if you’ll all return to your rooms,” the Admiral said, making a wide gesture with his hands. Around him, the stormtroopers all took a collective step forward. “Nobody will be allowed to leave until I’ve personally spoken to them.”

Everyone surged toward the doors, their noise and movement a giant wave crashing between buildings. Jyn and Cassian let the crowd move them.

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to run and jump and scream. The noose had never felt looser, like a necklace that was only meant to be pretty. They were in their element, wholly and entirely. It didn’t matter if the Admiral was looking for two thieves or two hundred. They would leave in the morning unscathed.

They’d won, and Jyn was just selfish enough to take every victory they could.

And maybe Cassian was feeling the same thrill she was, going through all the little spots they had to hide things, all the seams that were impossible to detect. He pulled her close and kissed her temple, and everyone else would think it was meant to be comforting but to her it was proud and conspiratorial and happy.

“Gin,” the Warden said, taking her hand before and pulling them to a stop. If she hadn’t hated him already, she would’ve just for pausing their moment. “Our agreement is still on. Midnight in the garden.”

Jyn frowned and glanced at Cassian. Even if he knew, _Cassein_ wasn’t supposed to. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It won’t take long,” the Warden promised. He reached towards the collar of his shirt and tugged on a thread beneath it. “I think you’ll both want what I have.”

The moment shattered.

The crowd was still moving around them, everyone rushing to their rooms, eager to establish their lies and alibis. She and Cassian should’ve been part of that crowd, though their excuses were well practiced and known. They should’ve been moving, should’ve been going.

Jyn couldn’t move. She couldn’t turn her head to gauge Cassian’s reaction, couldn’t move her eyes to focus on the Warden. She should’ve. A better spy would’ve been able to. Would’ve taken in the information and moved on, pressed forward.

Cassian was a better spy. She could feel him pushing against her back, trying to get her to take a step. He’d have questions when they got back to the suite, choice words to say. They were minutes away, and yet it felt like years in the future.

The little warmth she’d gained was gone. He was colder than ever to her, and she was frozen.

She couldn’t move. All she was able to do in the universe had been reduced to standing in that spot and staring at her mother’s kyber crystal.

* * *

The door to the suite shut. Jyn waited. She waited for him to turn on her, to yell at her. She waited for him to snap and bite and snarl. She waited for Eadu to repeat itself, but Cassian just stared at her, nothing on his face. He wasn’t defeated or angry of shocked. He was blank.

Jyn opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could say anything.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

Kay stepped into the room. “The Admiral is looking for thieves.”

“We know,” Cassian said flatly. “Something’s happening and everyone is nervous.”

Jyn nearly scoffed. Nervous was an understatement. She was nervous because of Cassian. Everyone else was panicked, and only a fraction of that was a result of the Admiral.

“Shall I prepare the ship?”

Cassian pinched his brow and didn’t answer as he weighed the possible options and outcomes. She and Kay both knew better than to interrupt his thoughts, though she was fairly certain there was nothing Kay wanted to do more. He hated preparing the ship, and he’d only recommend it if he knew it was the best option.

“We’ll need to leave tonight,” Cassian said after a long moment, rubbing the spot he’d pinched and shaking his head. “But it’ll have to be after we talk to the Admiral. There’s already a chance that all the possible strategies is now useless. I don’t want to burn our covers in case we have to repeat this mission.”

“Understood,” Kay said, walking towards the bedroom to no doubt pack their things. He always complained about it, but he’d also call them inefficient and slow if they did it themselves.

“The shuttle codes are probably useless, too,” Jyn muttered.

Cassian stiffened, then turned towards her, as if he’d just remembered she existed. He probably had. “How did the Warden get your necklace?”

Kay’s joints creaked as he stopped.

Jyn tightened her fist, felt her nails digging tiny crescents into her palm. She could remember the feel of it snagging, choking, snapping, and the hollowness that’d followed both physically and emotionally as it’d fallen into darkness.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.

“You don’t know?” He stepped closer, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. His eyes were dark and cold, like they’d been the first time they met. “Tell me the truth.”

She wanted to. It bubbled in her mouth like champagne.

“I promise, when we fly back tomorrow—”

Cassian sneered, then erupted. “Tomorrow means banthashit when we don’t know if the Warden’s about to send stormtroopers through that door!”

“He won’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “They made him as nervous as us, there’s something—”

“Enough, Jyn! It’s over! You can tell me the truth you you can go.”

Jyn clenched her jaw, tears stinging her eyes. “You said you’d trust my calls.”

“That was before I knew the Warden of Wobani had your damn kyber crystal,” he snapped. “You didn’t tell me he had that. You told me he didn’t recognize you.”

“I thought he didn’t,” she said, her throat swollen making her voice thick. “I didn’t know he recognized me and I didn’t know he had it. I thought it was gone.”

“You thought it was on Wobani,” Cassian corrected.

She clenched her jaw and nodded.

Cassian blew out a sharp breath from his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was casual, as if the words didn’t carry the weight of their lives. As if it’d been a vacation and nothing more. They weren’t even the types to take vacations. “You didn’t mention you’d been back.”

_Will you tell him?_

“I was told not to. I thought Draven would.”

A lie, but one that was easy enough to pull off. Cassian would probably lose it again if he ever found out.

He didn’t suspect, though, at least not at the moment. Instead he rolled his eyes and said, “The one time you actually follow orders.”

A sudden burst of defiance lit within her. She wanted to point out that she’d followed his orders plenty of times, that she listened when they were the right call, the smart call. The call that would save lives instead of endangering them. But the flame died as quickly as it’d come to life, and she was left once more with the cost of her actions.

She’d been a fool to think he ever would’ve seen her differently, that he’d call her a hero.

“I’m going to talk to the Admiral,” Cassian said, turning towards the still silent Kay. “It should buy us some time. Pack everything and I’ll meet you on the ship.”

Kay nodded slowly, and went towards the bedroom. Cassian only turned towards her once the door had slid shut behind the droid. It didn’t matter that he was right in front of her. He was leagues away, too far for her to ever reach again.

“If you want out, now’s your chance,” he said softly. “Take all the credits and supplies you need and leave. Or don’t. You can come back and be reassigned. I don’t care.”

Jyn flinched, a small outward signal of how she felt inside. She could’ve been thrown to the core of Naboo, through durasteel and soil and rock and magma, and she wouldn’t have felt half as much pain as she did.

After Scarif, she’d thought them leaving was an inevitability. They’d worked hard to prove her wrong, to show her she was wanted and loved, that she wouldn’t be left again.

She’d been left three times, but never told to go or that it was going to happen. She’d forgotten what inevitability felt like, and that being proven right hurt.

He pivoted, and she found that she hated when he pivoted, hated how it was a dismissal of her and them and everything she’d ever done. She’d tried her best, and her best wasn’t worth anything.

“Cassian,” she said, surprised she could get it out. He paused, but didn’t turn to her. His shoulders were stiff, his hands on the doorframe white as bone. If she hit hard enough, would he shatter, or would there not even be a dent? “I’m sorry.”

He was silent for a moment, and she could practically hear him in turn sorting through his options, looking for what would obliterate her. She couldn’t even fault him for it, not with everything she’d done.

“What’s the point?”

He didn’t wait for her to respond before he was out the door. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d waited. She could barely remember her own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone could draw Draven trust falling into Cassian's arms, I'd be forever in your debt.
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr now! Come say hi! [@maixela](https://maixela.tumblr.com)
> 
> Edit: There was a reference to Jyn having her kyber crystal after having seen it. This was an error on my part - she doesn’t have it back yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four Edit: If you didn’t see the update, I had to change a line in chapter four because it said that Jyn had her kyber crystal, which she doesn’t. The Warden showed her that he had it, but he never gave it back. I originally had her getting it back, but then changed it and missed that line. Thanks to FluffMonster42 for bringing it to my attention, I appreciate it!
> 
> Also, hope you all are doing well and your anxiety is not through the roof like mine. And if you're in Florida, please don't go to the beach.

She’d been in the cave for three days before Saw got her out. In the bunker for two before she climbed out on her own.

Jyn wasn’t sure how long she was in the room after he left. Maybe it was ten seconds. Maybe ten thousand years. Nobody was coming to get her, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pull herself out again.

When her mother had left her, she’d looked sad but determined, like she’d known how everything was going to end the second she’d slipped the kyber crystal around Jyn’s neck. When Saw had lead her into the bunker, there’d been grief in his eyes, but the same determination her mother had had, like he’d known it was for the best.

Cassian hadn’t looked like any of those things. He’d just been blank.

Before she’d left, he’d been adamant that he’d never leave her. He’d gone out of his way to prove it. When she’d left, she’d told herself it was for a good reason, that he’d understand. After she’d come back, she’d tried to tell herself he wouldn’t do it to her, not once he understood. That he’d stand by everything before.

She’d been a fool to not throw that hope on the ground and snuff it out. Trying to win him back had been a stupid idea. Was there any other way anything could’ve played out? Leaving her was the one thing he was owed more than anything. She hadn’t broken his heart. She hadn’t split it in two. She’d splintered it and fractured it and shattered it, and after all that, she’d obliterated it. It was a miracle he was even standing.

“That was unexpected,” Kay said, stepping out of the bedroom.

Jyn jumped. She’d forgotten that he was still in the suite, used to him following Cassian around like a needy tooka. It was a bit surprising he hadn’t cheered and followed Cassian out the door, truthfully. Wasn’t this, the dismissal of her, what he’d always wanted?

“Shouldn’t you be on the ship?” she snipped.

“I was told to pack everything first,” Kay said haughtily.

Jyn rolled her eyes, fingers going to her temples. She didn’t need this with Kay right now. “Finish packing and go.”

The droid didn’t move. “He did not know about your mission on Wobani.”

“Obviously,” Jyn said, then stiffened, turning slowly to the droid. “Wait—did you know?”

“I will admit I was hopeful you’d perished on Scarif,” Kay said, skirting her question. “But you were in Cassian’s reports, so I found your file. Your reports are more detailed than I’d expected.” He paused and considered her, as if trying to reconcile her standing before him and the reports she’d actively tried to do well. “It wasn’t hard to unseal the mission, since you sent the data to me.”

He’d been nothing but a backup in the droid bay when she’d left. Cassian had made her memorize Kay’s code, so if she ever needed to transmit something and couldn’t remember Draven’s, it’d at least end up in the droid bay for them to retrieve.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I was going to, but given the subject matter, I thought it unwise,” he said. “It was also classified.”

“So were my files,” she said. “But that didn’t stop you.”

“You sent the data to me,” the droid repeated. “If you told Cassian—”

“I was going to,” she interrupted. “On the flight back.”

The flight back where she wasn’t particularly wanted, and if she was there, would more than likely be resolutely ignored. Was there any point in trying?

“You should go,” she mumbled. “I can pack. If you need a blaster, mine’s on the table.”

“I will look very suspicious with a blaster,” Kay said primly, though she saw the way his optics lingered on it. “Also, I have nowhere to hide it and it’s very small.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. “Go, Kay,” she said, starting towards the room.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Kay placed a cool hand on her shoulder, the droid leaning towards her. “I will try to convince him to rethink his plan.”

Jyn blinked and worked her jaw, unsure what to say. Unsure what to do, really, with Kay being nice to her. So she did all that she could, and nodded, turning away again. She didn’t need to see someone else leave her. But as his footsteps neared the door, she also knew she had to say something, no matter how small it was. On Scarif, she hadn’t said anything to him after he’d called her her behavior “continually unexpected.” She’d always regretted that, though she’d never mentioned it to anyone.

This whole thing was a second chance. She’d messed up plenty of them already, but she could still get one of them right.

“Kay,” Jyn said, turning. The droid stopped and, unlike Cassian, turned. A bit of warmth danced through her chest. “Thank you.”

He stared at her for a long moment before inclining his head. “You are welcome, Jyn Erso.”

With that, he left the room, leaving her to wait.

The smart thing, the most advisable option, would be to stay and wait for Kay and Cassian to return. Or, at the very least, for Kay, if Cassian didn’t return to the suite. There was plenty of time to form an apology, to try and explain herself.

But the Warden was waiting for her, and as much as she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, she wanted her kyber crystal and wanted this to end. He knew Cassian’s face now, knew that he was important to her. If she was quick, she could kill the Warden, get her necklace, and be back before Kay and Cassian. She could cut even more time if she met them at the ship.She’d even settle for maiming or incapacitating the Warden if it saved time.

Jyn nodded to herself, resolute. She would end this, and she’d be quick. But as she grabbed the blaster, she’d noticed something else on the table, staring innocently up at her like a little black bug.

Cassian’s comm.

She wanted to call it a mistake, a simple oversight but Cassian didn’t make those. He always kept his comm in a pocket during the day and beneath his pillow at night. Jyn’s breath shuddered through her. It was over.

She forced herself to nod several more times, clenching her jaw and willing the tears away as she tucked the blaster into the belt of her dress. There was time for the Warden now, a great stretch of it, and nobody would care how long she took.

* * *

The sky above her was black, with great, gaping spaces between the stars. Fireworks would explode every now and then, painting the world in brief strokes of blue or red or yellow before the darkness returned. Beneath her feet, gravel crunched with every step. It was the opposite of Wobani, where the world overhead was gray outside and artificially bright inside. Where the mud squelched and the steel thudded.

Jyn slowed her steps as she made her way deeper into the garden. If she was going back, she wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible. There was nothing she had more of than time.

Once, she’d had a similar thought, though what she’d had more of wasn’t time, but love. They’d been on their ship after a mission, all of Rogue One save for Kay, and they’d been laughing and joking and it’d struck her suddenly how loved she was. She’d been pressed close to Cassian, practically on his lap, and Bodhi had been next to her and Chirrut and Baze not far away, and they’d been so happy that everything else hadn’t existed.

When she’d gone back to Wobani, there’d been one driving factor keeping her going. Them. It’d all been for them, and she wouldn’t change what she’d done if she were given a thousand chances. One day, they’d understand. It was the last thing sitting on her shelf of hopes.

Now was for them, too. One last beast in her past that needed to be brought down, and maybe she’d finally be able to never hurt them again.

Jyn turned a corner, and there he was, staring up at the sky. Was he looking towards Wobani like a human compass? She didn’t care.

“Warden,” Jyn said, not bothering with any pretenses.

He turned and smiled, broad as a tooka cat. “Lianna.”

A quiet breath escaped her. It wasn’t much of a silver lining, but she’d take it regardless. The darkness would still be overwhelming and unbearable, but it’d lurk just beyond the corner of her eye, a sliver of comfort. She could deal with whatever punishment was sent Lianna’s way. She would not be handle the punishment the Empire had planned for Jyn Erso.

She knew what Cassian would’ve done. What she should’ve done. Shot him before he had the chance to turn, end it once and for all. Saw would’ve berated her for wasting the opportunity, as would Draven and probably even Cassian. Provided he chose to talk to her, of course. He may make an exception just for that.

Drawing her blaster and shooting him hadn’t been a choice, though. Not yet. At best, it’d blow their covers once the Imperials found the body and they were long gone. At worst, someone would hear it, and she’d be captured before she had a chance to warn Cassian, in turn dooming him.

And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, part of her needed this confrontation with him, like the one she’d had with the man in white. The final overcoming of a nemesis. A true victory. It was a selfish desire, but Jyn wasn’t always an unselfish person.

“You didn’t bring Cassein,” the Warden noted.

“He doesn’t know.”

The Warden’s brows raised and his smile became a little more sharp, mock-pity. “He doesn’t know? Really, dear?”

“He doesn’t know,” Jyn repeated, her throat closing because no matter how angry he was with her, she couldn’t stand the idea of Cassian being in danger. Her stomach similarly curled and being called ‘dear.’ “I’ve been deceiving him for years. Deep cover mission when I was a teenager, alias I could frequently come back to. He never stood a chance.”

The Warden laughed. Jyn flinched.

“The only part of that I believe is the last part,” he said, coming towards her, drawing his own blaster. Jyn’s hand fidgeted towards hers, but did not draw it.“How did you explain your time with us?”

“I was sick and we—”

“Don’t lie,” he snapped.

Jyn hesitated, wringing her hands, words unfurling in her mind she’d shoved away.

“I told him I couldn’t handle it,” she said. “That we weren’t supposed to have been together for so long and it’d always been a matter of time before we fell apart.” She paused, swallowed around the stone in her throat. “I told him I didn’t see a future with him.”

She was glad she couldn’t reach her comm in that moment, glad that Cassian hadn’t taken his when he’d stormed out. She didn’t need him hearing the words again, didn’t need to break him anymore than she had. He wasn’t a fragile doll, but she’d still been too clumsy.

“When I got back, I apologized. I said I’d been afraid of committing, of the future. He didn’t know it’d been a mission. I don’t know how, but he forgave me.”

Only the last part was a lie. Cassian hadn’t forgiven her then and he wouldn’t forgive her now, not that it mattered. She didn’t deserve it, anyway. People didn’t callously break their lover’s heart, even if they thought they were justified.

“This time, I do believe you,” the Warden said, smiling. He raised the blaster towards her, gesturing with it when she drew hers. “Now, humor me, how much do you think he’ll miss you?”

She wanted to say _So much_ or _Terribly_ or something similar, but she knew better. Maybe he’d miss her for a few seconds, like little children when they lost a toy that wasn’t their favorite but still held some cherishment, but it wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t consume him the way losing him would consume her.

Jyn said nothing.

“I read your file, you know,” he said, smart enough to know he wouldn’t get an answer. “After you escaped the first time. What would the Alliance want with a criminal like you?”

She nearly rolled her eyes. “They’re not fans of your justice system.”

“And yet they sent you back. Why?”

This time, Jyn did roll her eyes. “You already know that.”

The Warden’s mouth thinned, his skin paling just a bit. His grip tightened on the blaster. Jyn held hers more steadily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She frowned and cocked her head. He wasn’t wrong, technically. She had an idea of what she’d stolen, but she hadn’t seen it personally. But he didn’t need to know that. The point that mattered more was that he was nervous that she knew anything at all.

Realization struck Jyn. Of course he’d be nervous—she knew enough to know that nervous was probably an understatement, in his situation—but now she understood why he was here, and why meeting with the Admiral had him so on edge. Her thievery wasn’t a small oversight, but something with massive repercussions. He and the Admiral weren’t just old friends, they were rivals, and his job was at the Admiral’s mercy.

She had plenty to offer him now, and plenty to lose. There was a happy medium somewhere in there, where she’d be able to walk away.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said.

“I do not think that’s wise,” Kay said from behind her.

Jyn’s head whipped towards the droid, half expecting to find Cassian beside him with his blaster drawn. Kay was alone, though, and his arms hung empty at his sides.

Had he found Cassian? Talked to him? Convinced him to change his mind? Not that it mattered now—but of course, that was a lie she told herself. Cassian’s opinion of her always mattered.

“This doesn’t concern you, droid,” the Warden snapped.

“I have direct orders I cannot override that say she is a priority.” A sudden, unexpected burst of warmth went through Jyn, like catching the far edges of an explosion and feeling just a trace of the fire. “I wish it weren’t true.”

Jyn sighed quietly. That was Kay. Always taking a compliment and making it rude.

“Fine,” the Warden said, turning his blaster. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“Wait!” Jyn shouted, jumping in front of Kay. It was only her second time ever doing it, and yet it felt like two times too many. “I’ll offer you a deal.”

“A deal?” Kay demanded, voice high.

The Warden tilted his head. “A deal?”

“You came here to talk with the Admiral about your slip-up,” she said. “Don’t you want the upper hand?”

The Warden frowned. “That has nothing—”

“You need me,” she said. “Let them go and I’ll be the perfect prisoner. I’ll tell them what I stole. But if you kill them, I’ll kill myself, and you’ll be left with the shame.”

The Warden frowned, considering, the blaster now pointed firmly at her head. His eyes narrowed, and it was the first time she could easily tell what he was thinking. _Do you know what you stole?_

 _I know enough_.

“Let them go,” Jyn repeated. “I’ll help bring you glory.”

In her head, Jyn knew it was a stupid decision. She hadn’t known if the Warden would shoot Kay or not, and it was a bit extreme to jump to self-sacrificing just to save a droid. But in her heart, it was the right choice. The only choice. A move that would protect Kay and Cassian and the whole Alliance they were part of. One that wouldn’t destroy Cassian over losing the droid once more, or leave him even more bitter towards her for getting his best friend killed again.

And maybe if she was lucky, if they all were, the war would end and she’d find them again. Or, at the very least, be free to live her life.

“I do not think this is wise,” Kay said.

Jyn shook her head. “I think it’s the only wise thing I’ve done lately.”

“How do I know you can actually help?” The Warden asked, drawing her attention away from Kay.

“I know what I stole. The Empire knows what I stole. Maybe they’ll forgive you, maybe they won’t. Maybe you’ll go back, maybe you’ll be somewhere greater, or maybe you’ll be dead. They’ll find you either way. Why not try to redeem yourself? Why not offer them me?”

His eyes were lighting up, not bright, but like a small flame that was growing. The idea was becoming more and more appealing. And why shouldn’t it be? There was nothing anyone ever wanted more than a scapegoat.

“You stay and they go,” the Warden echoed. “That’s the deal?”

Jyn set her blaster on the ground. Behind her, Kay shifted.

“That’s the deal.”

The Warden was silent for a long moment, watching her, and she once more she thought of the ak. She’d wanted to be away before he swooped, but now here she was, offering herself as a willing target.

“Okay,” he said. “Your compliance for their freedom.”

If it hadn’t been a death sentence, she would’ve whooped.

“The necklace, too.”

The Warden frowned, toying with it, holding it close like a child. “If it’s valuable—“

“It’s sentimental,” Kay said. “I think it’s stupid but she has always insisted.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then he took the kyber crystal off his neck and threw it towards them. It landed in the gravel a few steps away, and Jyn felt like a starving man as she scooped it up and held it close.

She turned and stepped back to Kay, holding it out with both hands. It felt silly to give it up again after having just got it back, but keeping it didn’t feel right, either.

“Give this to him?”

“I still do not think this is wise,” he said, ignoring her hands.

“Then you can tell everyone how you were always right about me,” she said, taking his metal hand and uncurling the fingers just enough to place the kyber crystal inside. She refolded his fingers over it. “It’ll be all right.”

Kay shook his head. “The probabilities say otherwise.”

“Continually unexpected, right?” Jyn joked, then bit the inside of her cheek, a sudden, unexpected layer of tears covering her eyes. She squeezed his hands once more. “Go, Kay. Take him home.”

He hesitated another moment. She knew he wanted to say more, that his wires were telling him to say more. Jyn shook her head, and after one more pause, he turned and walked away. A small laugh escaped through her lips, sad and broken. She had holes in her heart for her parents and Saw, had always assumed she'd have more one day, for Cassian, Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze. She'd never expected to have one for K-2, or for him leaving to hurt so badly.

She watched until he’d turned the corner and his footsteps could no longer be heard before turning back to the Warden. He’d come closer, but the blaster was at his side, and there was a flask in his hand.

“What is this?” Jyn asked, taking it and sniffing. It smelled like flowers with a bitter edge hidden beneath.

“A sedative,” the Warden said. “It’s rather strong and volatile. One shouldn’t have any abnormal effects.”

Jyn swallowed. He didn’t bother to say what ‘abnormal effects’ were, but strong and volatile said enough. Too much would likely kill her. It was tempting to drain the entire thing, not because she wanted to die, but because she didn’t want him to win. But that wouldn’t do any good for Cassian and Kay.

“I have your word?” she asked, tapping the flask. “If you lie, I’ll kill you myself.” He raised an eyebrow, and she had no doubt he was going to make some sarcastic remark about how unlikely that was, so she added, “I’ve escaped Wobani twice. Finding and killing you won’t be hard. Besides, your reputation depends on me.”

The Warden studied her, his eyes a little wide, before calming and giving her an impressed smile. “You have my word.”

She swirled the flask once, twice. There wasn’t much else to do but drink it. Yet she stood there, listening to the concoction slosh against the insides, hoping. Hoping like he’d taught her. Hoping against all odds that he’d come for her. Hoping he’d pull off the impossible again.

The garden was still and quiet, no sounds save for her and the Warden’s breathing.

Jyn took the drink, and as she coughed and her vision blurred and gravel dug into her knees, all she could think was how pointless hoping was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Wobani! Also, I hope you guys like this one. If nothing else, Kay and Jyn get some bonding and that's always fun. I'm not in love with it but also I reached a point where I wasn't finding anything more to add to it, and that general feeling is annoying.
> 
> I’m not sure how long it’ll take for Chapter Six. It’s going to be a long one (the rough draft I have that’s just bits here and there is already 3K and I’m lowballing it’ll be 10K overall), and I won’t be able to write this weekend.
> 
> I have a Tumblr! [@maixela](https://maixela.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It’s certainly been a while. I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I’m so happy 2020 is over. I didn’t know a year could be that chaotic, but let’s call it lesson learned and never do that again. I hope you are all doing well and found some good things through all that happened.
> 
> I’m really excited for you to read this, but there’s a few things I’d like to mention before you start.
> 
> The OC’s in the tags appear in this chapter! I know Brem has been an OC, but there are a couple others that have been referenced but never appeared. Now they’re here. I didn’t have as much space as I would like to flesh them out and see them interact with Jyn, but I tried to at least give them some personality and make them enjoyable.
> 
> Also, partially because I could and partially to keep it entertaining for me, there are a ton of references in this chapter, not including anything referring to other parts of this story or Rogue One. There’s an Attack of the Clones reference, A New Hope, I think two for Empire Strikes Back, another for Return of the Jedi, and one for Rise of Skywalker. There’s even references to Spaceballs, Family Guy, Community, and a couple Killers songs. All this to say, I had fun with these references, and whoever finds them all gets an air high five and all of my respect.
> 
> There’s a brief cutting reference, but it’s not in a self-harm kind of way. I don’t really know how to explain it without spoilers, but a character does cut their arm and I wanted to give everyone a fair warning. They’re not self-harming and it's not graphic. I kept it as brief as possible, but I just wanted everyone to be aware.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. I'll probably edit them later as I notice them more and more, but for now, I just had to post this for my own sanity.
> 
> Now, I hope you enjoy this absurdly long chapter! :)

Jyn had forgotten how lightless Wobani’s cells were.

The dark was more pervasive than the bunkers she’d been forced into in her younger years, like a living creature that curled and twisted its way around her body, squeezing the breath out of her in a long exhale. If she wasn’t careful, it’d swallow her before she even realized she was in its mouth.

It’d be easy to lose herself in here, to give into the darkness and let it consume her. Easy like dying on Scarif would’ve been, absorbed by light and sand and sea in His arms. She could hear the screams and groans of the other inmates in solitary, the ones who’d lost themselves, calling to her like an old friend.

It was that, she supposed, that always turned her away from giving in. She wasn’t the type to have friends, had never been. She’d always thought of the people closest to her as family, surrogates for the parents she’d lost long ago, always disappearing in turn.

Well, almost all the people closest to her were family. He’d always gotten a category of His own. The last thing she needed was for the dark to start calling to her like a lover, though. She wasn’t even sure it could, since His voice was already echoing in her head, a quiet reassurance in the dark.

_You’re doing great. Keep holding on._

It was a cruel joke, to hear Him in here. Even worse that the form of Him was soothing, her mind fully aware of how much comfort the smallest fragment of Him could be. It was like bacta on a knife wound while the blade still rested inside her. The balm was there and doing its job, but it couldn’t erase the entirety of the pain.

It’d be more helpful if He’d tell her the day, so she could know how long she’d been trapped here. Just under two months by her estimate, though it was rough and could be wildly off. There was no keeping time in the blackness of the cell, and the guards certainly didn’t help. Her meal times seemed to be whenever they thought of it, resulting in timeswhere she was still full from the last meal, and others where her stomach felt as if it’d started eating itself. Her sleep was even more erratic, something she did when she was tired or bored, frequently broken by the other inmates and the guards outside her door.

Shift changes always brought a cacophony of precise footsteps, but there was no telling how long had passed between one shift and the next. Eight hours? Twelve? Did they purposely end them early sometimes, or send other guards through the solitary corridor just to confuse the inmates?

Wobani had changed while she’d been away. It’d been easy before to know what time it was, everything precise and routine, though she supposed having a view that extended beyond her cell and frequently being pulled out for labor helped. Still, the prison had changed. There were even more stormtroopers now, more checkpoints throughout the corridors. They’d built more walkways across the gaps, lessening the distance they had to travel, making mobilization easier if required.

She’d seen the Warden on one of the walkways when she’d been dragged back in, smirking like a tooka that’d trapped its prize. It was an expression she knew well, having worn it herself on many occasions. She wasn’t sure she’d ever do it again.

_Once more. Just once more._

Jyn twitched, a sting running through her body. She wasn’t sure she had another smirk left in her. Another smile, either, or a laugh. She’d given them all away, sacrificed them with her hopes and dreams and good sense. All that was left was hollowness and anger and determination, and the latter was being absorbed by the foremost at an alarming rate. Truthfully, everything was being sucked away at that ludicrous speed, and Jyn knew at the end, when she’d finally imploded, the last words in her head would be her father’s, telling her how he’d only been able to think of her at his strongest, and how she’d wholly and entirely understand.

* * *

Jyn sighed and slapped her hands over her eyes when someone banged against the door to her cell five times. Once meant a guard was bored and wanted to startle her. Food was two knocks, and water, three. Four meant she was going to be paraded around the prison in one humiliating way or another, and five was for stun-cuffs, a bag over her head, and torture.

This was the closest she had to a routine on Wobani: spend a few hours alone in her cell, sleep when her boredom became too great, and eventually be called for another round of torture. It’d almost be bearable if they asked questions, but Lianna Hallik didn’t have anything notable to be reported, save for who’d broken her out initially. After claiming it was a mistake a few times, the guards had lost interest in getting an answer, and the only noise during the sessions were her screams.

Her cell door slid open, the sharp light still creeping through her fingers to stab her in the eyes. Jyn breathed in once, twice, listening as the guard stepped forward.

“On your feet.”

She’d often imagined a different person stepping into her cell and saying those words, not that she’d ever admit it. It was a silly hope, like those she’d had in the early days with Saw, and the few days she’d waited in the bunker for him to return. She’d never thought she’d feel it again, but apparently it was like learning to walk.

Jyn stood, holding her arms out for the stun-cuffs without being prompted. The light still stung, but it was fading, becoming more manageable. With enough time, everything in Wobani faded into that groggy middle territory.

The guard threw a bag over her head, and the same words crept into her mind every time this happened: _Are you kidding me? I’m blind_. The first time it’d happened, she’d smiled despite her fear. Now, she just waited for the guard to say, “Let’s go,” and shuffled along.

If she’d been better—or, more accurately, if she’d been _Him_ —she would’ve marked their path in her mind, measured it by their steps. But caring about getting out, about surviving, circled the in-between place even on the best days. A good shove and it would tumble in, forever gone.

Despite not knowing the way, she was aware enough to know something was off when a door opened far earlier than it usually did. The guard shoved her inside and pulled off the bag. Jyn blinked rapidly in the sudden light, trying to get her bearings. She could just make out the guard near the door, his features becoming more identifiable as her eyes adjusted. Tall, with dark hair and a lean build, almost like—

Jyn brought her hands up and rubbed her eyes, trying her best not to jostle the stun-cuffs, then opened them again. It wasn’t _Him_ , but it was someone she’d been expecting.

“You’re a lot shorter than I thought you’d be,” Ramin said, kicking off the wall and coming close, inspecting her as if short beings were an anomaly.

She stepped back and glared. The sentence was only supposed to be a code to let her know they were safe and secure, not something he had to take literally. “Took you long enough.”

 _Easy,_ His voice said. _Easy, Jyn_.

The amiable look on Ramin’s face dropped as he narrowed his eyes. “It would’ve been easier if you didn’t have the criminal history. It made you notable.”

“If I didn’t have that past, there wouldn’t be a guaranteed way into this place.”

For a moment, he matched her glare. Then he pulled back and laughed, the amiability returning. She’d never worked with Ramin before, but she’d heard of him. He was bolder than most Intelligence agents, more willing to become a beacon for them to turn towards. He got results, which was ultimately all the Alliance wanted, but plenty of other agents had grumbled about his attention drawing mannerisms.

 _He’d_ hated Ramin. She’d always thought Ramin sounded a great deal like her, aside from the people-person affability.

“So,” Ramin drawled, voice cheeky, “What have you learned so far?”

Jyn glared. “I can’t believe Draven sent you.”

“As long as there are results, he usually doesn’t care. _I’ve_ learned that guards are on ten hour cycles, the comm center is accessible from one floor, that it’s on the complete opposite side of the compound from the hangar, one of the Bothans has the datachip hidden somewhere on their person, and both of them are in the general population.”

If his smile had been any bigger, it would’ve been a star.

“I hope it didn’t take you two months to learn all that,” she said flatly.

“Nope,” Ramin said, and he even popped his ‘p.’ “As I said, you’re notable. That took time.”

Jyn blew a sharp breath out of her nose. Was this how He’d felt when He and K-2SO had been forced to work with her? She hadn’t been annoying in the same way, but she’d certainly been difficult. “Do you at least have a plan?”

“Sure,” Ramin said. “Get the data and get out.”

Okay. Maybe she was a lot less like Ramin than she’d though.

 _I could’ve told you that_ , His voice said, though it sounded distant, like it wasn’t directed at her. Were there other voices in her head? Had she gone insane?

Ramin laughed again. “Give me more credit than that,” he said. “We’ll still need to figure out how to get everyone out, but first we have to get you with the other prisoners.”

“I don’t think they’re just going to move me from solitary to the general population.”

He smiled again. He smiled too often, in her opinion, though that’d probably been marred by all the other spied she’d encountered who smiled far too little. “Actually, they already have. We’ve been going over what’ll be expected of you. Labor, conduct, the fun stuff. Welcome back to the general population.”

Loathe as she was to do it, Jyn smiled back.

* * *

They don’t put her with either Bothan.

Ramin had told her to expect that, but it still irritated her to be thrown into a cell and know the chasm of time between the present and returning home yanked like a bored loth cat. The universe may not throw any bones, and certainly didn’t owe her, a death escapee, any favors, but she was ready to give anything to see her family again, if only for a moment.

 _It shouldn’t be much longer_ , His voice said. Jyn glared skyward, towards the eyeless universe beyond the metal ceiling, because salt in the wound was unnecessarily cruel.

She swore for a second she saw him looking down at her. She kicked her foot against the metal at the end of her cot twice, the only outlet for her anger that didn’t paint her weak. Her cellmate hissed at her.

It was easier to acknowledge in the dark that not putting her with either Bothan may have been for the best. Meals on Wobani weren’t decided with health and strength in mind. They were portions just big enough to carry an inmate from one meal to the next, with one occasionally skipped in between. She could already see the change two months had had on her. Her ribs were more pronounced, her joints a little more obvious than the muscle. She ate a little better with the general population, which had bigger portions so inmates wouldn’t pass out while working. If she were lucky, she could regain a little muscle. It wouldn’t be her best, but it’d be better than being a walking corpse.

She hated it. She’d worked hard after being rescued to regain as much muscle as she could, had spent so long at her very best. She was fast and hit harder than most expected of her, and it’d always been a rush to take down an opponent larger than her, even when she’d known she was the favorite from the start. Now, she’d be lucky if she could run down the hallway without getting winded.

That wasn’t even considering how everything felt so overwhelming now, either. The near constant presence of light, only disappearing at night so they could sleep, still scalded her eyes every morning when she woke. The noise was overwhelming, too, nearly earsplitting after so long spent with so little. There was a thumping in her ears that never fully went away, steady as a heart. She knew it wasn’t her heart, had compared her own erratic pulse to its rhythm. At night, she focused on it to help her fall asleep, and dreamed that it was His. She could even hear his voice when she was lucky, soft _Stay with me_ ’s and even softer _I love you_ ’s.

She wished she could stay in her dreams forever. Dreams were kinder than reality, and din’t remind her of what she knew was inevitable. Possible death, terrible meals, and, perhaps worst of all, a fight she was going to have to throw.

Ramin hadn’t told her how she was supposed to get from having a spice-runner cellmate to the Bothan they needed, only that when she figured it out, he’d make sure she was placed where she needed to be. The solution hadn’t been hard to find. Killing her cellmate could result in death or solitary, but a fight would get them separated—and one that she was going to intentionally lose.

Saw was probably rolling in his Jedhan tomb.

She tapped her foot against the metal again, this time in thought. Her cellmate still hissed.

This would’ve been perfect for Him. A plan truly up his alley. It required subtly and grace, because not only would she have to lose, but she also couldn’t be the one to throw the first punch, or get injured so badly there were serious repercussions. She couldn’t wait for her cellmate to strike, either, because there was not telling how long that’d take. At least her original cellmate on Wobani had made it a point to tell her daily that she was going to kill Jyn.

But no, she was the one who had to be crafty and convincing, like Him. Even saw had had his moments of truly artful manipulation. More often than not, if two Partisans were spoiling for a fight, he’d order them to duke it out and release the tension. But there were the rarer occasions where he’d plant seeds in their brains and wait for them to sprout. He’d cultivate their anger and hatred and pit them against each other, and when the fighting was over nobody ever realized he’d been the conductor.

He’d tried teaching her this skill, but Jyn hadn’t had the patience for it. Now, she wished desperately that she did.

But she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, either. No matter how much she raged and rattled at the cages of the universe, time was going to progress at its own pace, and she was subject to its whims. She may not have paid much attention to Saw when he’d tried to instill these more subtle manipulations, but she had paid attention to Him, and he’d been a master at the craft, both on and off the field.

It’d require patience, and creativity given the close quarters, but maybe it wasn’t such a far fetched plan. She thought of all the recruits He’d encounter, how all of them knew immediately how to behave around him, how they were more alert and respectful with him than other commanding officers. He’d commanded respect and just the right amount of fear, and all he’d needed to do was make himself more imposing.

Imposing could work for her, but it could fail just as easily. If she was too intimidating, her cellmate would become submissive, and if she was too little, her cellmate wouldn’t care at all. She had no place for respect, either. She needed anger, annoyance. Two of the most common feelings on Wobani.

Jyn kicked the wall, her frustration returning.

“Stop it,” her cellmate snapped, baring her teeth.

Jyn froze and stared at the woman for a long moment, before turning over in her cot to face the wall, grinning to herself.

* * *

After two weeks, Jyn remembered quite viscerally how much she’d hated Saw’s lessons on manipulation.

It was so unbearably boring.

Her cellmate was responding with quiet hisses and dark looks and low growls, but she wasn’t snapping. It was like having a nexu chained to a pillar, but all it did was lay in the shade and growl instead of pull at the chain and bare its teeth. Every day with this cellmate was another one to regain her strength, but she also wanted to go home at some point, and that plan wouldn’t start until she was cellmates with the Bothan.

She considered it a perverse blessing when she was pulled for labor duty. It certainly wouldn’t be fun, but it’d be better than being stuck inside with a bite-less cellmate.

Jyn tried not to think about the last time she’d been inside a turbo tank as it meandered forward, but it was hard to forget as her gaze darted across the guards and inmates faces. Ramin was there, talking animatedly to two of the stormtroopers, every boisterous laugh setting the other inmates on edge. Other than him, there was only one other noteworthy person on the transport. The Bothan.

It was the male one, his fur a light brown and a ragged scar across the bridge of his nose. Ramin had called him Peshk and said that other than to eat, he’d never seen the Bothan’s mouth move. Even now, with grumbling inmates around him and a transport that lurched more often that it rolled smoothly, Jyn could see his eyes were trained straight ahead and did not not move.

But they weren’t unfocused.

It was a small relief. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had retreated into some deep, previously unknown corner of himself. She’d certainly found little nooks and crannies in her mind that she was always prepared to slip into. But he was still present, still calculating, and if he even had a small kernel of a plan, she would take it and cultivate it into something viable. He’d gotten this far with only his fellow Bothans at his side—she would help them see it through.

They unloaded at a trench, the sides so steep they were nearly vertical. One by one the prisoners were roped together then directed down into the trench. It was luck and careful pivoting that stopped them from plummeting in. It was also luck and Ramin’s swift maneuvering that put Jyn at the end, linked only to Peshk.

For a while, they worked in silence, digging into the dirt with the shovels they were given. She was only half looking for precious stones and gems, the majority of her focus on the troopers pacing the solid lip above. Most of her knowledge of stormtrooper gear was first hand, and she found it to be flimsy and unremarkable, but she still hesitated. Even if they were at least ten feet higher, modifications were always a possibility, and it wouldn’t do her any good if Peshk started talking within earshot of a loyal stormtrooper.

She waited, gradually drifting closer to Peshk. She could feel the exact moment his eyes focused on her, assessing whether she was friend or foe. His gaze was like lightning on her spine, sharp and jagged and uninviting. She nearly laughed at the irony of it, how she was now in His spot and having to deal with an echo of herself.

 _Careful_.

“Peshk?” Jyn asked softly when the stormtroopers drifted away and the other inmate tied to the Bothan was straining their connection. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

He said nothing, but his shovel hit the rock a little more forcefully.

“I’m here to help you,” she murmured, digging into one spot when a trooper circled back. She found a geode, and tossed it in the small pile she’d made. Appeased, the stormtrooper drifted away. “Do you know what you stole?”

Still nothing. In a silence competition between Peshk and Him, she wasn’t sure who’d win.

“If you want to get out, I need your help.”

Peshk dug deeper into the dirt, not flinching as it slid down and covered his boots. Jyn frowned, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she slid further away.

Maybe she’d been wrong, imagined the alertness in his eyes. Maybe Wobani had gotten to him, the way it’d almost gotten to her. She’d at least been able to prepare for the slide, the free fall.

Had he expected to die? Had he known it was a suicide mission, the way she’d known Scarif was? She knew from experience the displacement that came with surviving the impossible. How everything felt too new, too hallowed. There was a disconnect, like the real world wasn’t as real anymore, the tangible coated with the beyond.

Jyn didn’t like to think of Scarif often. She liked to speak of it even less. If she could have her way, it’d never be thought or spoken of again. She’d erase it from history if they won, let it die in the hole painful memories get buried in. It’d be dug up in nightmares, that was an inevitability, but ideally someone—He—would be beside her, able to understand without a sound.

Was that what Peshk needed? Understanding without a sound? Someone who knew what it was like to feel other, to feel labeled, because they’d outrun death itself. If she extended the branch, would he take it? Would he recognize her experience for the trauma it was, and understand that she wanted to stop anyone else from living this half life they both lived?

She drifted closer, and saw his ears perk up ever so slightly. Not catatonic, then.

“I’m not the enemy,” she muttered. “I’m the one who started this. With your help, we can end this.”

 _It’ll be over soon_.

“If you were there at the start,” Peshk said, his voice low and gruff, “then you are just as much an enemy.”

“What?” Jyn hissed, surprised more than angry. She couldn’t fault him for blaming her as much as he blamed the Empire. Had it been her in his place, she would’ve hated the person who’d started it all for forcing her hand into an awful situation.

She turned to him. His eyes were on her, clear and bright, filled with anger, resentment, and drive. It was a look Jyn knew well. It wasn’t a look she needed to see right now.

A rock hit her shoulder, and Jyn’s head whipped up to find Ramin standing high above her, unimpressed. He snapped, “Back to work, scum.”

She glared, a dozen foul curses rattling in her brain, waiting patiently at the tip of her tongue. They’d draw attention now, and do harm rather than provide any consolation to her, but when they were out of here, she’d tell him every last one.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peshk return to his work, unbothered. Jyn scowled and dug into the dirt again.

“I’m not the enemy,” she repeated, voice low. “I want to see the galaxy freed.”

Peshk snorted, but he said no more.

Even she knew she hadn’t been this difficult when first recruited by the Rebellion. Surly and stubborn, of course, but she’d gone along and even considered K-2SO’s safety a few times.

His story, however, was the mirror opposite of hers. It wasn’t Rebellion, problems, ultimate sacrifice. He’d started with the ultimate sacrifice, and now his problem was being stuck on Wobani, with the Rebellion waiting to recruit him.

Jyn frowned, and hit a rock with more force than necessary. Excuses. She was making excuses for him. That was going to stop. Excuses didn’t solve problems, and right now, they needed to solve problems.

“Look,” she hissed, “I lead a suicide mission and I survived. It sucks. But the galaxy still needs our help and what all of you found. So stop being a coward and let me help you make it worth it.”

She knew even before she said the words that they wouldn’t help. Maybe he heard every word, maybe he ignored them. It didn’t matter. Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears, because asking for more than he’d already given had been too demanding. It was just another cruel irony given to her by the universe, taking everything she’d said to Him and warping it into a mockery of her. It was a nightmare on repeat, and no matter how fast she ran, she kept finding herself at the start.

* * *

Another two weeks passed, slow and dull like the others. At least in solitary there’d been no real concept of time, other than it was passing. She could sleep and it could still be the same day, or it could be the next. The dark may have been unsettling, but it’d also become a comfort, a place to hide from the rest of the universe. Now, she was too aware of each passing day, how they stretched and meandered, unconcerned about getting to the next.

She was pulled for labor duty three more times, but neither Peshk or Ramin were there with her. Ramin hadn’t pulled her aside even to ask for an update after her conversation with Peshk, and Peshk wouldn’t meet her eyes every time she tried to get his attention in the mess.

The other Bothan was just as impossible. The few times their meals overlapped, the Bothan never looked up from her plate to look around the room. Other inmates would flick utensils and food at her, but the Bothan never flinched or looked up. She was a pariah, too, for reasons unknown to Jyn. Always in a corner table, spaces left around her until there was absolutely no other spot in the mess left. Sitting beside the Bothan willingly would be too obvious, even the troopers would catch on and know something was amiss, and there was no guarantee that that was the Bothan with the information.

It’d be easier if there wasn’t four of them. Easier if three of them weren’t inmates. Easier if they hadn’t gotten caught in the first place and had forced Jyn to returning to this hell. She shook her head, clearing her mind. Wishful thinking like that would get her nowhere. It would just keep spiraling and spreading, and there was no going back and altering the past. Only dealing with what was currently before her, and trying to control the after effects.

Jyn stomped her foot twice against the floor, trying to dispel her frustration. Across the table, her cellmate looked up and growled.

“Stop that.”

Jyn glanced up, then away just as quickly.

Ramin had promised that her next cellmate would be the Bothan, she just had to find a way to make changing cellmates a necessity. She was getting nowhere with Peshk, and she knew the fight was coming, just a matter of when. A quick survey of the mess hall told her all she needed to know—Peshk was a few tables down, and Ramin was stationed in a corner.

There was no time like the present, she supposed, sending a prayer out into the Force that this wouldn’t be too awful.

 _It’ll be okay_ , He answered, and she really wanted to believe Him.

Jyn waited for the mess to quiet again, then stopped her foot twice. She didn’t look up from her plate, but heard the rustle as her cellmate’s head snapped up, the huff of annoyance. She took one bite, then another, tapping her fork twice on her plate.

The beauty of fighting, in her opinion, had always been the predictability of it. There was a rhythm to a fight, a back and forth that drummed in her very soul, steady like His heartbeat. _Battle born_ , Saw had called her, one of his rare compliments and the only way he’d been able to explain that beating in her soul.

So when that rhythm started pounding in her ears, Jyn felt her entire body wake up, and moved her head just in time to dodge the fork flung at her. She barely heard the bark of the prisoner who was on the receiving end of the utensil as her cellmate lunged over the table, tackling Jyn to the ground.

The air left her in a huff, and Jyn remembered the last time she’d been on Wobani, when she’d been unceremoniously thrown to the muddy, cold ground. The memory disappeared as quickly as it’d been conjured, replaced by the riot that swept over the mess hall—and then a sharp crack and lingering ring as her cellmate shook Jyn’s shoulder and slammed her head against the ground.

 _This isn’t supposed to be happening_ , His voice said, a touch frantic. Jyn groaned in agreement.

She’d barely had time to open her eyes before her cellmate was throwing a punch, hitting Jyn squarely in the cheek. Her head snapped to the side once more, and when she coughed, she felt something hot and sticky pass her tongue and teeth. Sharp nails dug into her skin as her cellmate yanked Jyn’s face back towards her.

“I told you,” her cellmate spat, shoving Jyn’s face away again, pressing her cheek into the cold floor, “to stop.”

Jyn coughed, blood droplets staining the ground in a nonsensical pattern. She wiggled, then grinned.

Her cellmate wasn’t battle born.

“Make me,” Jyn said, bringing an unpinned arm up to grab the other woman’s collar and yank. Her cellmate gagged and was thrown off balance, leaning heavily on one leg. Jyn took her chance, shifting to throw her even further off balance, until she was off and Jyn could twist away. And then, despite every instinct and a voice that sounded like Saw’s screaming in her ear for her not to, Jyn dove under the table and crawled as fast as she could away.

She didn’t consider herself an indecisive person. Her head and heart rarely differed. A call made by one was often resoundingly approved by the other, and there was no internal conflict keeping her up at night and making her question morality.

But there were still those few decisive moments where they disagreed, like on Lah’mu, when her heart had gone back for her parents while her head told her to rush for the bunker. Or after Eadu, when her head had been overwhelmed and short-circuiting, but her heart had insisted on still trusting Him. And the payoff to that decision, when He’d come back and told her not to go after the man in white, despite the screaming in her head for death and vengeance.

If someone told her she would’ve pondered morality while crawling under a table on Wobani, she would’ve laughed.

But here she was, crawling away as fast as she could, her head screaming _Coward_ and _Go back and fight_ and _Battle born_ , while her heart called her _Brave_ and told her _It’ll be okay_.

It still felt wrong to crawl away, but the voice in her heart made it easy to keep going.

Letting the fight continue would’ve been a stupid idea. The tackle, slam, and punches were enough to warrant changing cells. Unleashing herself only would’ve brought questions and more time in solitary, more time away from home.

She could still see her cellmates boots on the other side of the benches, trying to keep pace with her. The other prisoners kept getting in her way, a minor blessing in Jyn’s opinion, but the chase never fully stopped.

If there wasn’t a long term goal, Jyn would’ve pinned her cellmate and hit her until the aching in her chest went away. There was a long term goal, though, and her body was already suffering. She didn’t need any more injuries than absolutely necessary.

The right choice, she decided, often sucked. And maybe this time it was only her ego suffering, but there were other times she’d made the right choice and found it unsatisfying. Not shooting the man in white might have spared a part of her that still needed innocence and kindness, but it’d also taken the revenge she’d craved so desperately for, leaving her in an odd half-fulfilled state. Joining the Alliance was also the right thing, but the amount of paper work was a constant headache.

Breaking His heart and coming here had been awful, but there was no one better poised for it.

So she swallowed her pride and kept crawling, only stopping when the boots became the whites of stormtroopers, and they were yanking her out from underneath the table, the words _Coward_ and _Brave_ still at war within her.

* * *

They nearly put her back with the same cellmate. Jyn had been on the cusp of blowing her cover and risking whatever sentence they would pass when Ramin glided in and changed the guards’ minds. She’d scowled the entire time, and he’d had the nerve to pinch her chin and tell her she should be grateful for his kindness. She added another tally to the list of infuriating things he did.

The Bothan—Nen, according to Ramin—was curled up in her bunk when they threw Jyn in and locked the door. Like in the mess hall, she didn’t turn or flinch, just kept staring at her fingers as if they were the most interesting things in the universe.

Jyn huffed as she pulled herself from the floor and stretched out on her bunk. She almost wished the mission would go sideways and all hell would break loose, because each new blockade made her want to hit her head against a wall. Wished it’d tip, spill everything onto the ground like a gutted tauntaun, let the foul stench and ugly innards expose themselves so she could finally _do something_. This wasn’t a sideways mission, though, just one that was listing lazily to the left instead of fully tipping.

It was hard not to imagine what he would’ve done in this situation. She knew he had plenty of experience with missions like this, askew but not off kilter, even if she didn’t know all of his stories. How did He manage the stumbling, the constant wrong feeling?

And how had He managed her, when she’d been drifting in the days after Scarif? They’d all been so broken afterwards, emotionally, physically, mentally. He’d been he worst off physically, but He’d been the one to start bringing them back, bit by bit. How had He managed it? How was she supposed to do it now? Nen wasn’t whole. She was broken, and a push in the right spot would shatter her.

The words came before she knew they were on her tongue.

“I’m Jyn Erso. I’m here to rescue you.”

There was a second of silence, and then Jyn snorted, her shoulders curving inward as she shook with laughter. It was ridiculous, and she remembered saying as much when He’d said it to her, and how He’d smiled and agreed, a quiet joy in His eyes because she was reacting. Interacting. She’d been awake before Scarif, but had shut down in the Death Star aftermath. Despite barely knowing her, He’d stayed at her side until he’d found the right words—the most ridiculous words—to coax her back.

Maybe it’d be enough to start coaxing Nen.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stay silent, a hand slapped over to her mouth and her blood thrumming in her ears with each shake of her body. It was nearly enough to almost make her miss the quiet, “I’ve heard of you.”

Jyn twisted her head, her body stilling, but her grin was unwavering as she found dark eyes alert and focused on her.

She wasn’t sure how old Nen was or what was old and what was young for a Bothan, but Jyn knew youth when she saw it. Knew when someone hadn’t been painted with blood and tainted by weapons, but had been allowed to grow and live and be happy. To have hobbies that weren’t chargeable offenses.

Nen hadn’t experienced much of anything, but she’d listened when the universe called.

Jyn’s smile slipped, her eyes becoming more serious. “I’m not going to let their deaths be for nothing,” she said, because while it wasn’t where she wanted to start this conversation, it was the most important thing she had to say, to acknowledge. “I’m here to help you see this through.”

Nen’s gaze flicked away, lingering on the metal wall for a long enough moment that Jyn wasn’t sure if she was creeping back behind that comforting emptiness once more or not. But their eyes met once more, and Nen’s gaze was as unflinching as the first time. She stayed silent, but Jyn knew the question.

_How?_

It sounded like His voice, distant once again, there but not. A reminder of how easy it’d be to unspool this thread she’d only just managed to grasp.

But the answer was easy to find, covered in dust and sand and heartache in her head. It wasn’t a place she often ventured—took great paints to avoid, if she were being frank—but she still knew where it was, everything bright and sharp in her head. Untangling the words from her memory and letting them pour from her was as easy as breathing.

“We’ll take the next chance. And the next. On and on, until we win.”

She didn’t voice the alternative, the moment all the chances were spent. She knew it was there, just as the Bothan would know. But Nen didn’t need that reminder right now, not while she was still down. She needed to know they would win, that they’d get out of this.

She needed hope.

And maybe she was a little selfish too, because Jyn knew that somewhere, deep in her heart, she was starting to think they might actually get out of this.

Nen kept staring, those eyes just as dark and deep as the ones that had once welcomed her home.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

She thought of Him again, hated how her mind always circled to Him like a predator circling its prey. But there was comfort there as well, a safety and warmth that always blossomed deep within her at the thought of Him. It was pain to think of Him, but it was also a balm.

“I know it is,” Jyn said after a moment. “I know it is, because I’ve done this before. It’s a long shot,” she swallowed and tried not to think of just how long their shot was this time around, “but if we do that, we can end all of this.”

Nen was silent for a while, so still Jyn wasn’t sure if the Bothan had fallen asleep or not, or had slipped back into that fractured place. Had heard the words and decided they weren’t enough to keep trying.

Was this the end? The final blockade she wouldn’t be able to get through? The success of the mission depended on the cooperation of the Bothans, at the bare minimum whichever onewas holding the information. If neither would cooperate, the mission was a wasted effort.

Jyn swallowed heavily at the thought. This couldn’t be the end. She didn’t break His heart and tear apart her family for nothing. Draven and Mothma had pitched this mission as something that could likely end the war. She needed it to be something that could end the war, needed this mission to be a success to justify what she’d done. Even if They never forgave her, if she brought Them the end of the war, the start of peace, that would be enough.

“I can’t do this without you,” she said, her voice low with the threat of tears. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks, but she swallowed around the stone in her throat, pride be damned. “It won’t be simple. It won’t be clean. But I will do whatever it takes for us to get out of here and end the war. I just need your help.”

She let the words settle in the cell with them, a rope thrown between one cot and the next. Jyn knew there was nothing left to do now but wait. If Nen wanted nothing to do with her the way Peshk did, she’d accept it, even if she’d rather swallow poison. The Alliance could find another way to end the war, and while she probably couldn’t find another way to repair what she’d broken without this mission being a success, she’d do whatever They or the Alliance asked.

And if Nen did decide to tug on that rope, then she’d be here and ready.

Jyn settled into her bunk, but before her vigil could truly begin, a soft word broke the silence. She nearly missed it, convinced it was just a trick of the dark. But then it came again, an affirmation, a promise.

A flicker of hope.

“Okay,” Nen said. “Okay.”

* * *

Despite Nen’s agreement to help, the floodgates didn’t immediately open, to Jyn’s immense disappointment. Little bits slipped out here and there—on days where they weren’t picked for labor duty and spent all of it bored in their cell, sometimes under the breath at mealtime, once even while they were working, though that had ended the moment a trooper had cracked an electrowhip—but nothing vital. The circumstances of Bothawui that lead to this decision, and how many Bothans had participated, but the actual information and the theories surrounding it were never even a whisper.

 _Focus_ , Jyn told herself after one of Nen’s more chatty bouts. _This is your job_.

Hadn’t she committed herself to taking time with this mission, even if it was awful? She could only jump so many hurdles at once, and the last thing the Alliance needed was sloppy work. But each day was a step closer to something big, and Jyn was more renowned for her impatience than her patience.

But a too forceful shove could still turn away Nen. Jyn bit her cheek and shoved her disappointment down, refocusing on her surroundings. Nen sat across from her in the mess, staring at her tray though every now and then her eyes flicked to Jyn or Peshk, who was a few tables away. Jyn wasn’t facing him so she couldn’t be certain, but the few times she’d tried to quickly turn her head had proved that Peshk was glancing at Nen as well.

Hope started to flutter in her chest, but Jyn forced it away as well.

“Were you close?” she asked softly once she was certain nobody would be closer than four chairs from them.

Nen made a soft, questioning sound.

Jyn bobbed her head in Peshk’s direction.

“Never met him until the assignment,” Nen said. “We’re the only two that made it out though…”

“It builds a bond,” she supplied as the Bothan trailed off, gaze once again locked on her tray. A slight nod was all the indication that was given for Jyn to know she’d been heard.

The silence returned, a friend Jyn was becoming too familiar with again. She didn’t mind silence, would even call herself a taciturn person, but this silence was too quick to resettle, too loud to be a comforting silence, the unspoken words pressing into her like shards of glass.

 _Take a breath_. _You’re doing great._

She followed his instructions, orienting herself to the world around her once again and taking another bite of the slop.

Across from her, Nen split her last bite into two.

Jyn frowned. “Why do you do that?”

She looked up, startled. “Do what?”

“Split it in two. It’s small enough to be one bite.”

As quickly as it had risen, Nen’s head fell again, though Jyn got the distinct impression it was more out of embarrassment than anything else.

“There are flowers on Bothawui,” she said. “They’re beautiful, vibrant. Ak’s would dive between them to hunt small prey and the flowers petals would fall off. We’d gather them, and grab a portion, and one by one we’d go through our piles and dream of our crushes and say ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’” Nen smiled sadly, then shook herself and looked back at Jyn. “It’s childish, I know, but it helps pass the time. Keeps me going.”

It was childish, a silly game that Jyn had never heard of and certainly never played anything similar since she was a small girl. It felt like an exposed nerve, too easy for a blow to be landed upon. Too young and innocent for the galaxy around them.

“Sentimentality during war could get you killed,” she said softly. Nen’s face fell. “But—if it gives you hope, don’t let it go.”

A little bit of light returned to Nen’s eyes. “Will you try it?”

Jyn glanced down at her plate and the one bite remaining. What was there to try? She shook her head, pushing away her plate. Her stomach clenched in pain.

“I’m very well aware of what he thinks of me.” _Jyn, it’s okay._ “He doesn’t love me.”

Nen frowned, looking almost crushed, despite knowing nothing of the situation. If she did, Jyn had no doubt Nen’s eyes would be filled with judgement and dismay. But she didn’t know, so all she had was love to be felt vicariously through Jyn, and the heartache when Jyn shot her down.

“Fine,” Jyn sighed. She took a piece, and shoved it all into her mouth. “He loves me not.”

Nen’s frown turned into a glare. “That’s not how you play it.”

“I’m not really one for rules,” Jyn drawled.

The Bothan rolled her eyes and said nothing else. Jyn didn’t bother trying to fill the silence, especially with so many ears around. Instead, they waited until the bell rang to return to their cells, and only after they’d returned and the nightly inspections had passed did Jyn speak again.

“I know it seems simple from your perspective,” she said, picking at the edge of her thin blanket, “but coming here wasn’t as easy as just coming here.”

In the dark, Jyn could barely see Nen roll towards her.

She pressed on. “I don’t know what was so important on Bothawui for you to risk everything, but I do believe that it was vital to ending the war. I want to end this war more than anything, and so when they told me the intel was here—I knew it was worth it, but I didn’t get to leave a clean goodbye.”

“They don’t believe in the cause?” Nen asked.

Jyn snorted. “Just the opposite. He swears by the cause. But asking me to do this would’ve been too much, even for him.”

There was a lump in her throat, making each word nearly impossible to get out, forcing them to scrape against her throat as they stumbled out. She forced them out anyway, even as they dug into her throat, offering Nen this bit of herself, if only so she’d be offered something in return.

“Do you know what you stole?” Jyn whispered.

Nen’s eyes lit up, sharp understanding swimming through them, but all she said was, “I know enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Is it worth it? Will it end the war?”

Nen met Jyn’s eyes, and her resolve was as firm as Jyn had ever seen. “Yes.”

* * *

Most inmates agreed that the worst job on Wobani was excavation. Unlike the other digging or drilling jobs, excavation was an entire day of crawling in tunnels in search of precious gems and minerals. It was claustrophobic work, and the prisoners had cuts on their hands from the jagged rocks just as often as they were beaten for coming back empty handed.

It was also the easiest time to get two prisoners alone with one guard, so Jyn supposed she couldn’t fault Ramin for pulling herself and Peshk for it. When they were back with the Alliance, she’d find a way to make him pay her back for this hellish day of digging. Until then, she would glare.

They didn’t speak as they wound their way down into the earth, the small cave entrance narrowing at a rate Jyn wasn’t overly fond of. She didn’t like tunnels or bunkers, especially poorly lit ones, but there were others with her this time, and even if she trusted them barely more than a Hutt, it was still nice to know that someone else was there.

There was even a rope, tethering her to them, and it was the most secure reminder that she wasn’t alone or going to be left behind that she’d had in two months. She tried hard not to think how strange it was that Wobani, of all places, gave her this comfort.

“Well?” Ramin asked when they were far enough underground that the guard they’d left at the entrance couldn’t hear them. “Do you have a plan?”

Jyn shrugged, one of her shoulders scraping against the rocks. “There’s only one real option. We have to overwhelm the troopers, and the best way to do that is to release the prisoners.”

Peshk started and turned to her. “You’re not serious, are you?” He looked at Ramin, eyes still wide. “She’s not serious?”

“Of course I am,” she said.

“It’s risky,” Ramin said. He gestured toward a hole for Peshk to crawl into. “Start with that one. That’s the only option you see?”

“Three prisoner transfers at once could burn a few identities if they got suspicious,” Jyn said. “It’ll be easier to get out in the chaos.”

“This one.” Ramin rapped against a wall above a small crawlspace that wasn’t much bigger than her. “There’s a lot that could go wrong with that, too. The prisoners could block our path or work against us. If they don’t do what we want—and there’s no predicting what they’ll do—the entire thing could be doomed from the start.”

Jyn forced her way into the small area, feeling blindly around. Her fingers scraped a few sharp peeks, but they crumbled when she rubbed at them. Dirt. “Can’t handle the risk?”

“I don’t like unnecessary risk,” Ramin corrected.

“That surprises me,” she said bluntly, shrugging as best she could in the small cavern, though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Risk is how this worked last time. One chance, then the next. Have you thought of anything better?”

Ramin was worrying at his lips when she emerged from the hole. He shook his head.

She nodded. “Release the prisoners as a distraction it is. We’ll want an outside distraction to take the focus of Wobani.”

If the information was as critical as Draven, Mothma, and Nen had implied, the Empire would be especially keen to not have anyone know what’d happened, which would make it even easier for them to stay hidden. The universe wouldn’t know they were supposed to be looking for anyone.

“Draven mentioned a small strike on Geonosis,” Ramin said. “This one, next. The one to your left, Peshk.”

Peshk grunted and dove back into the dirt.

“We need more,” Jyn said, pausing at the cave entrance. “See if he can do a prison break on Vallt.”

“Been there as well?” Ramin asked. “You need to learn to play nicer.”

“I never did get along with everybody else,” Jyn snarked as she crawled into the hole. “But I was born there, actually.” With any luck, He’d hear ‘prison break’ and ‘Vallt’ and think of her. If she were extra lucky, He’d take it a step farther and find out about Wobani on his own, secrecy and clearance be damned. “In the prison.”

“Born in one, and now you’re probably going to die in one. Convenient.”

Jyn pulled out and looked at him sharply. “I don’t plan on dying.”

Ramin nodded, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm behind it. It acknowledged and validated her plans, but it didn’t tell her otherwise, either. “There’s something to be said for pushing through. You think a prison break will be big enough?”

“Maybe,” she said. “We just need a distraction big enough to do everything without drawing the Empire’s attention to us. That’s our job. We only succeed if we fool all of them.”

Saw had said that to her not a week after her mother’s death. They’d been watching a nerf herder lead several to a slaughterhouse and he’d pointed out how calm they all were, how the man had had to trick them all at once because if he only took one and returned without it, they’d know not to trust him. It had mer her question whether or not she could trust him, something he’d encouraged.

“All right,” Ramin said, nodding slowly. “I’ll send word to Draven. That’ll take some time to organize, but I know it’ll be a priority. We’re probably looking at another month, minimum.” He glanced over at Peshk, who’d emerged from his hole. “Any suggestions, Peshk?”

The Bothan stared at them, his eyes hard. “No,” he said, his tone just flat enough to set her on edge. “No, I won’t be part of another suicide mission.”

Jyn’s scowl was immediate and fierce. “What do you mean you won’t be part of it?”

“Jyn,” Ramin warned, and she jumped a little to hear her voice spoken aloud here, where most knew her as Lianna. “It’s okay, Peshk. You don’t have to help.”

She whirled towards Ramin. “What?”

He turned and fixed her with a glare. “He’s done more than enough. If he doesn’t want to risk his life, he doesn’t have to sign up for it. He’s not like us.”

“He’s a coward,” Jyn spat, not caring that Peshk was right there. She turned to him. “You’re a coward.”

He shook his head. “My decisions don’t have to match with your ideals.”

Jyn flinched. It was an odd echo of her own words, _It’s not a problem if you don’t look up_. A quiet dismissal, a way to refuse to answer the universe’s call. She almost couldn’t blame him for it, having thought the same way herself once. But she’d been selfish and bitter, and she could understand why He’d been mad when she’d finally heard the call, because the reality she’d ignored for so long had turned into something vital when it’d always been vital to Him.

She couldn’t force Peshk to heed the call, but maybe she could give him a nudge in its direction.

“They don’t,” Jyn said, “but I’m not the one letting those lives go to waste.”

Peshk stared at her. “Has she told you what they found? Has Nen told you what those deaths got us?”

She glared but shook her head.

“There’s a blight in the sky,” he hissed, “and when it comes, I want to be in the safest place possible, and if that’s here, then I’ll be here. Maybe I am a coward, but at least I’ll be alive.”

Jyn frowned, trying to make sense of the words. She shook her head, shoving them to the back of her mind for now. _We’ll worry about that later_.

“Here might not be an option,” Ramin said quietly, “not if our plan goes the way we want it.”

“I don’t plan on leaving Wobani standing,” Jyn agreed. “I just might be the one to finally burn it down.”

Peshk scoffed. “And what about the Warden?” He glanced between the two of them. “There are plenty of stories about him, and how people die after seeing him. They weren’t stabbed or strangled. They just saw his eyes and died.”

Jyn snorted. “Banthashit.”

“He’s not Vader,” Ramin said gently. “He’s not special. He’s a man.”

“It’s hopeless,” Peshk said.

“Maybe for you,” Ramin said, turning to meet her eyes, hope shining clearly in them. “But not for us. There’s always a key, and we’re going to find it.”

Jyn nodded, but she wished the twisting in her stomach would go away.

* * *

Jyn simmered. She didn’t think it was a problem, not truly. She needed to be angry for the day they enacted their plan, needed to store that anger so it fueled her and pushed her forward through even the hardest of barriers. And if she didn’t need that anger for a month while everything else was put into motion, that was fine. She’d simmer.

The more nervous looks Nen shot her way, the more Jyn wondered if her simmer was closer to a boil. The way they continued through dinner and long after they’d returned to their cell told Jyn that it was not as subtle as she’d wanted.

“Are you okay?” Nen asked, words soft and hesitant, as if she were afraid Jyn would explode. It wasn’t a terrible assumption to make.

“Fine,” Jyn ground out, not removing her glare from the metal above her.

She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, or if what she felt even was surprise. Shocked, perhaps, that he was not wavering despite Nen’s choice to see their original goal through. But her access to Peshk was far more limited than her access to Nen, and he’d been decidedly against hearing any of it since the start.

She knew, too, that she’d also been projecting her hopes onto him, that somewhere in her head the idea had taken root that if Peshk changed his mind, so could He. A foolish hope, considering how obstinate He could be, and though she didn’t know Peshk, she imagined he was quite similarly dedicated to his resolves.

“Peshk won’t help us?” Nen asked, the hurt in voice nearly undetectable. Jyn wished they could send Nen to talk to Peshk, see if she could sway him back to their side. But it’d be an unnecessary risk, especially if it pushed him even further from them, or turned him entirely.

“It’s too much risk for him,” she said, glancing at Nen, hoping this wouldn’t change her mind.

Nen only frowned. “You didn’t give him a rousing speech?”

“I didn’t give you a rousing speech,” Jyn snorted.

“I thought it was,” the Bothan said. She lowered her head slightly. “You think we can still do it without him?”

Jyn took a deep breath. She didn’t know the exact odds, had never had the mind for probabilities beyond jumping from the cliff and submitting to the free fall, with the occasional cautionary thought, but she knew that four was better than three, and three meant a greater risk for all of them. But only three of them had gone into the Scarif citadel, and though they’d need everyone on the beaches, Wobani was more contained. There wasn’t a shield over Wobani, and even if they couldn’t transmit the intel, they could still escape and take it back to the Alliance.

“Yes,” she said when her head had finally cleared and any doubt had left her system. There wasn’t room for doubt.

Nen stared at her for a long moment, before nodding resolutely, and reaching towards the end of her bunk. From between the metal and the cot, she pulled out a small blade, barely the length Jyn’s smallest finger.

“What are you—Nen!” Jyn surged forward, reaching blindly for a blanket as Nen slid the blade against her arm. A few dots of blood dribbled out, but Nen ignored them. Instead, she prodded at her arm, pushing this way and that at the skin, until she gave a quiet gasp and a tiny metal chip slipped out from beneath her skin. Nen grabbed it before it could fall, wrapping her shirt around it briefly to clean it off before offering it to Jyn, who stared bewilderedly.

“There’s a blight in the sky,” Nen said, nudging it towards her again.

“There’s a blight in the sky,” Jyn repeated as she finally shook her stupor and took it. She twisted the chip to and fro in her hands. “I don’t understand.”

Nen glanced towards the cell door, then shifted on her bunk, taking Jyn’s hand and tugging her beside her. She didn’t let go of Jyn’s hand, instead turning it over so her palm was facing up.

“There’s a blight in the sky,” she said again, and with her finger she drew a small circle, then a larger circle around it, off center. She repeated the motions again.

A small circle. A large circle, off center.

Jyn stared at her hand, barely registering Nen’s fingers slipping out of sight or how there was no physical indication of the circles. She just stared, and stared, and stared.

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t fair.

“No,” she whispered when her breath finally caught up with her. “No, that’s not fair. It’s too much.”

Nen didn’t offer anything beyond a shrug. “Tell that to the Empire.”

* * *

Jyn stared at the ceiling, Nen long since asleep. If she had a comm, she would’ve shouted the universes nastiest insults at Draven, and then some. She would’ve damned him to every hell she knew, and every one she didn’t believe in. She would’ve made up some, too, just to damn him to those.

It was probably for the best that she didn’t have a comm, but that didn’t stop her from ruing him.

A second Death Star. There weren’t enough curses, gods, religions, planets, or stars to properly articulate her wrath.

She’d known it was big, the information she’d been sent to retrieve. Big enough to know she probably wasn’t going back to the Rebellion. Big enough that she’d hurt her family before leaving, to spare Them the agony in case she didn’t make it back.

She’d broken His heart for this mission. It hadn’t been kind or gentle. She’d taken every soft secret they’d kept and lobbed them at Him like detonators. She’d burned cherished memories and done everything but call Him a stormtrooper again.

If she died, she’d be okay with what she’d done. If He took all that she’d said and turned it into hatred of her, He could learn to move on. Peace was starting to bud in all of their futures, and if they were lucky it’d be only a matter of time until it bloomed. She hoped He’d see the end, and that He’d find something worth living for.

But the selfish and cruel part of her wanted to live. She wanted to go back to Him, Them, and take it back. Apologize and explain. It felt too simple in her head, but she wanted it to be so. Hoped for it. Hoped that Draven would pull them aside before she stepped off the ship, and when she was back on solid Alliance ground, they would be there to greet her and wrap her in their arms.

But it was too simple, too impossible. There were other impossibilities that needed their immediate focus. If they did pull this off and got the plans to the Alliance, there would still be another Death Star to destroy. And even if they destroyed a second Death Star, would it be the end? The beginning of the end? Would they ever see the true end, or would they all keep going until something new rose in its place?

He’d already done so much for the Rebellion, sacrificed so much, and what He hadn’t sacrificed they’d taken away. She’d help take away. Would He able to recognize peace for what it was?

Jyn took a great, shuddering breath, and shoved all but her anger away. She was going to get the plans, she was going to send them to the Rebellion, and she was going to try to conquer death once more. If she was smart, fast, and ruthless, she could even see Him again. If she were lucky, maybe she could even show Him peace.

* * *

“You’re not calm,” Nen said, her hands folded lazily in her lap. She would’ve been a perfect holo of relaxation and confidence if her legs hadn’t been bouncing rapidly.

Jyn glared. “I’ve been looking forward to this for five months. I get to be impatient.”

Waiting had never been Jyn’s strong suit, anyway. She could steady herself, force herself into some semblance of stasis, but she couldn’t relax, couldn’t fake it, not like Him. There was work to be done, work that she’d had to wait too long for, work where every second mattered. It wasn’t even about getting the plans transmitted to the Alliance or doing the right thing anymore; it was all about doing the job well enough that she’d survive and go home to Him, Them. Home.

“Of course,” Nen said magnanimously. “But patience and calm are two different things.”

“Thanks, Chirrut,” Jyn snorted. She stiffened, body suddenly stone.

“Chirrut,” Nen repeated, testing the name. “Is that his name?”

Jyn took in a shaky breath, suddenly dizzy. She could hear Him murmuring _Steady, Jyn,_ but it didn’t help. The anticipation had turned to a roiling in her stomach.

She shook her head. “Someone else.”

Nen made a soft sound but didn’t press. Jyn was glad she didn’t. They didn’t belong here, not like she did. A single mention risked inviting Them in, inviting Them here. Even if They never set foot on this Sith-forsaken rock, thinking of Them would tie Them here, even if it was just a small piece. She couldn’t do that to Them, not for her own selfish reasons. Couldn’t stand to know that in her heart and in her head that she’d been the one to bring Them to this hell. Even if They learned the truth and wanted to do it, to share in her suffering, she could barely stomach it.

 _You’re okay_ , His voice said, and Jyn stifled a biting, _For now._

Wobani must’ve finally gotten to her, if she was willing to battle the voice in her head.

She swallowed and took in another deep breath. She was going to do whatever it took to live, and she’d thought it through enough times that it was finally turning into a hope.

“If we live, can I meet him?” Nen asked softly. Jyn turned and found the other woman staring at her feet, forcing her legs into stillness. It reminded her again how young Nen was. And yet she’d risked so much, for the hope of something better.

“You can meet all of them,” Jyn said, her smile one of the few genuine ones. “They’ll want to meet you.”

They’d probably be more excited about Nen than her, but that wasn’t Nen’s fault.

“I think—”

Nen’s words stopped as a clang sounded down the corridor, followed by another, and another. Just out of place enough to be suspicious. The silence that fell made it feel like the entirety of Wobani had stopped and held it’s breath—and then released it with a sharp cry and an answering roar.

Jyn pressed herself against the door, feeling it vibrate as it unlocked. She opened it just enough that it couldn’t be locked again and trap them, but didn’t draw the attention of the shadows now walking down the pathways either. Doors continued opening in an uneven rhythm, until a loud buzzer sounded, and the rest of them opened as one.

The deluge of prisoners was starting, the footsteps becoming as loud as the shouts. Jyn held her position, felt Nen press against her side.

“Go time?” the Bothan asked.

She shook her head. “Give it another minute.”

The last thing they needed was to be swept away with the prisoners. Masked by them, yes, but not carried in the wave.

In her periphery, Nen nodded once, resolute. It threw Jyn back to another time, when she’d been the one with the quick, resolute nod before leading men to their death.

She took in a shuddering breath, shoving away that nausea again. She wasn’t sure what to make of how frequently her life’s history echoed itself, but it certainly didn’t seem like a good thing.

Jyn listened to the footsteps again, nodding as she noted how much quieter it’d begun, the prisoners now mostly gathered together. Hopefully, their chaos would turn all the eyes of Wobani to them.

“Okay,” Jyn said, opening the door finally. “Let’s go.”

Nen gave a parting grin and started to move, a diligent soldier. She turned and gave a quick salute. “May the Force be with us.”

For a moment, Jyn forgot how to breathe.

 _Stop standing there and help,_ His voice snapped, and she wasn’t sure how He knew what to say when, but it was enough to force herself back into her boots, and venture into the corridors of Wobani.

The prisoners had indeed taken all of the attention of Wobani. Jyn walked away from her cell, pace quick but not running, in case any cameras caught her and dispatched someone to round her up.

She’d had better plans in the past. Plans where she had full, well trained teams and escape options. For a team of three with wildly different skill sets? Jyn figured it wasn’t the worst. Not the best, but if they managed to live through it, they’d have earned every _Well done_ and _Good job_ they received. They’d have to defy death itself to succeed today.

They’d made the plan as simple as possible, to make it easier for the three of them. Nen would set charges on a wall leading to the outside to provide a further distraction as prisoners escaped, while she and Ramin broken into the Warden’s office to gather any other data and passcodes to the communication center. They’d regroup there, send the intel, and escape. Simple enough, but Jyn knew from Scarif that if one set of eyes looked the wrong way, everything would go wrong. The prisoners would be a big distraction, and they outnumbered the troopers five to one, but a blaster bolt was still an effective weapon and there was still too many uncontrollable possibilities.

 _The Force is with me, and I am with the Force_.

The chant felt silly in her head, but she couldn’t deny the bit of comfort it brought with it as well. She repeated it a few more times, let the rhythm become the tempo for the fight. _Battle born_ , she reminded herself.

Nobody noticed her in the halls, because nobody was around. A glance over the railing showed the majority of the prisoners gathered several floors down, near the ground floor. It made sense, all of them rushing to the exit, but already she could see how they were clustered together, forced into waiting, the outer edges battling with guards.

As long as they didn’t start getting rearrested and dragged back to their cells, Jyn didn’t particularly care.

She kept an eye on the floor below her for Ramin. She’d have to go down eventually, but she hadn’t found a staircase yet, nor had she spotted him. She kept running, looking back and forth for one or the other, head swiveling. She was going back and forth so fast she didn’t notice the guard who’d stepped into her path until she was nearly upon him.

Jyn skidded, immediately trying to back up, the motion nearly sending her to the ground. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should’ve been paying attention for guards, too, instead of assuming they were all with the masses below.

The guard whipped out his truncheon, the snap as it extended a sharp bark. Despite the tension hanging in the air, she had to admit she approved of that sound. She’d always loved a good snap from a truncheon.

Jyn backed up as the guard stepped forward, meeting him pace for pace. He hadn’t pulled his blaster out yet, nor said a word to her. She’d hardly heard any blaster fire, in fact. Even though it’d be easy to say everyone who served the Empire was an idiot, she knew it wasn’t true. Cowards, maybe, or narcissists, though that was entirely from her point of view. But they also knew Wobani was a labor camp, and even though they could just shoot all of the prisoners down, it wouldn’t do them much good in the long run.

Then again, maybe she was giving them too much credit.

A flash of black the floor below caught her eye, and she barely registered Ramin’s presence before the guard dropped. He smiled, and gave a quick nod. Jyn swallowed, suddenly nauseous as déjà vu settled over her.

“Back up,” she said.

Ramin frowned and took a couple steps back. “What’re you—”

She missed the rest of his question as she took several steps of her own back, then sprinted, launching herself over the railing. For a moment, there was only her and air and the mass of bodies far below. Her body thrummed as it soared, a type of adrenaline coursing through her she didn’t need to experience often but gave her an untouchable thrill all the same.

She crashed into Ramin, sending them both to the ground.

“Next time,” he wheezed, “I’ll need more warning.”

“Sorry,” she said.

“No, you’re not.”

Jyn rolled her eyes and away from him, standing. Ramin glared as he stood, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d thrown herself onto him or because she’d messed up his hair.

“Here,” he said, offering her an officer’s jacket. It was several times too large for her, and only the jacket, but hopefully nobody would look twice while they ran. “Warden’s office is this way. And pocket these.”

He thrust two small objects into her hand, both barely the size of a finger nail. Jyn swallowed as she stared at the lullaby pills.

It was one of the few things that they’d never discussed, her and Him. She’d known it was always there, tucked into a small, sewn on pocket of all his uniforms and jackets. She’d known that he’d sewn similar patches into her vests, though never filled them, instead opting to double pack his. It hadn’t been an option, not truly, there only because it had to be.

It felt dangerous to cup them in her palm, as if she were violating an unspoken agreement. He was her superior officer, the one in charge of it all. Now, she was Nen’s.

He’d let her lead the strike on Scarif, but perhaps she hadn’t been as in control as she’d imagined. The men who’d risked their lives believed in what she spoke, but they’d truly gathered around him and his magnetic aura, lured out of the shadows like bugs to flame. She’d felt the weight of responsibility, but, if she truly considered it, she’d really only felt responsibility for her father’s machine, not the men joining her to stop it. He’d bore the weight of that responsibility, and there’d been so many. She only had that responsibility over one, and what a heavy burden it was.

She slipped the two kernels into the pouch on her shoulder, and resolved to not give it to Nen, the last bit of mercy she could give.

They sprinted along the corridors, circling deeper and deeper into Wobani’s heart. There weren’t many guards on these levels, and what few there were were sprinting themselves, too focused on their assignments to notice anyone else. It was the kind of chaos Saw liked best, a controlled spiral, where the madness escalated but never veered off course, always turning at the precise rate he wanted. It wasn’t a very common, most members of the Partisans more keen on the explosions and mayhem than actually seeing the plan through exactly, but when it did happen, it always went beautifully.

It’d be a relief if this plan went beautifully.

“In here,” Ramin said, forcing her to a stop and pulling her into a storage room. She followed, trying desperately to ignore how much she wished he was Him. This wasn’t the time for that. “The Warden’s office is a few doors down.”

“Is he in there?” she asked, breath catching in her throat.

Ramin shook his head, grinning like someone who’d just seen their worst enemy suffer a terrible blow. “He’s on the lower levels, trying to get the prisoners under control.” He held up a metal card. “Got this off another guard. Easy access to the office.”

“Let’s hope they rebel more when they see him,” Jyn said, matching his grin. “Ready?”

He nodded, and they started down the corridor again. Before the reached the door, Ramin nudged her arm. “Keep your head low.”

She did as she was told, even going so far as to nearly hide behind him as the doors opened and they walked in. The office was sparse, little more than a desk with chairs on either side, and two doors towards the back. No data pad sat on the desk, no documents or anything to indicate the Warden did any work while he was in here.

Ramin pointed to the left door. Jyn didn’t question it as she went to the door and opened it, finding a room filled with boxes upon boxes. There wasn’t time to dig through the boxes, but judging from a few things that were poking out from overstuffed lids, she was comfortable assuming they were different trinkets taken from prisoners.

For a heartbeat, she’d wished she’d brought her blaster—His blaster—when she’d gotten caught, instead of returning it to His bag, so she could’ve opened a box and found it hidden within. It was a stupid wish, though, and she knew it. Finding it in this room filled with boxes would’ve been a nightmare in and of itself, and a blaster wasn’t special or unique enough to warrant a place in a collection.

“Can you wipe our files?” Ramin whispered as he dug through one of the desk drawers. “I’m not sure they’re even on this console, but if they are—”

“It’s a good precaution,” Jyn agreed, going to the desk.

To her surprise, the system was years outdated, just out of use enough to be considered archaic. It wasn’t one she was particularly used to, either, having always kept up with the most popular systems and updates. She worried at her lip, debating if it was worth the time to try and erase them at all.

“You’re tense,” Ramin hissed. “If you’re tense, we fail.”

“I was doing fine until you decided you wanted this project completed,” Jyn sniped. “Just give me a minute.”

 _There isn’t time_ , His voice hissed, just as distant as the metal doors sliding a room away.

Jyn froze.

“No time,” Ramin said, tugging on her arm and pulling her out of the chair. They moved along the back wall, keeping tucked away in the shadows. In the main room, the Warden’s voice was a thunder clap demanding to be heard, and the troopers in unison response. There was no telling how many of them were there, just like it was impossible to tell how many sand people there were at a time on Tatooine. “They know the comms are down,” he said quietly, then flashed her a quick grin and held up another card. “And they won’t be able to find the access card.”

Jyn’s smile was short lived. “Did you get that from in here?” Ramin hesitated, but nodded. “So they’re about to come in here.”

He swore, low and filthy, something that usually would’ve made her exceptionally gleeful. If she lived to experience a later, she’d enjoy it then. The opportunity for later seemed distant, though, a goal both more and less attainable by the moment.

“Air vent,” Ramin said, and before Jyn could fully process what he’d said, he was climbing up one of the stacks and moving one of the vent gates, then pulling himself inside. They were exceptionally large vents, the kind that were necessary for massive complexes like this. “Hurry.”

 _Any other time_ , His voice snapped, as if he knew just how little she wanted to be in the air vents of Wobani. Crawling wasn’t an issue, nor was escaping, but there was still something terrifying about being in such a tight space with no easy outlet.

“Come on,” Ramin hissed, holding his hand down. Jyn steadied herself, shoving all the nervousness and anxiety she felt at the prospect of an enclosed, dark tunnel, and reached for his hand. Her fingers had just grazed his when the door opened.

Jyn dropped low, making a small shooing gesture towards Ramin. He ducked further into the air vent, putting the grate back in front of it quietly, while she crept between the stacks, trying to find the intruder. She knew what he was by the footsteps on the ground. Stormtrooper.

Fear didn’t course through her veins. She’d faced stormtroopers thousands of times. One wasn’t enough to scare her. But she wasn’t sure if the Warden and others were still in the other room, which meant she couldn’t shoot him before he saw her, and a brawl would bring them running just the same. It was logic, she told herself, that had her crouching down and sliding between boxes.

Fear didn’t course through her veins. She’d faced stormtroopers thousands of times. One wasn’t enough to scare her. But she wasn’t sure if the Warden and others were still in the other room, which meant she couldn’t shoot him before he saw her, and a brawl would bring them running just the same. It was logic, she told herself, that had her crouching down and sliding between boxes.

_Breathe, Jyn._

The trooper moved slowly between the stacks, not quick enough to be a hunter looking for prey, but methodically, as if he were half expecting someone to be lurking in the shadows. From her low shelf, she could only see from his knees down, but the white was stark against the dark of the room. She forced her breathing to slow as he moved slowly towards her hiding spot, a difficult feat with adrenaline setting all her nerves aflame.

Above, she could just make out the darkness of Ramin’s eyes through the vent slats, how he was watching her with a predators intensity. She didn’t know what he was chanting in her mind for her to do, but she could feel them pressing at her. _Don’t move, you need to keep still. Breaths just like that, nice and slow, you’re doing great._

The door opened with another whoosh, and the calm she’d been trying to maintain bubbled in her throat. She clenched her jaw to keep the bile down.

If Saw could see her now, he’d berate her for how weak and pathetic she was being. A coward, just as she’d accused Peshk of being. Hiding instead of fighting, instead of barreling down each and every Empire sentry.

The trooper didn’t turn towards the newcomer. He continued his scouting, and Jyn forced herself to breathe as he turned down her aisle, stopping just a shelf away from her.

Could he see her? Had she left a little mess of dirt and grime that had caught his attention? Was that why Ramin had been so focused on her, not just out of camaraderie and concern for a fellow soldier, but because he could see the trail she’d left pointing to her?

The trooper shifted, lowering herself. Jyn’s blood felt like it was made of flame itself, her mind a too high shock of electricity, too unstable to control her motions with any degree of reliability. This couldn’t be the end, not now, not at the hands of a single trooper—

A blaster bolt fired, and the trooper finally saw her, though only with dead eyes.

The new boots were dark and covered in mud, the being shorter than the trooper. She could see more of it, more leg and—a light brown fuzzy hand.

“Peshk?”

“It’s me,” he said, hurrying towards her. Jyn wasn’t sure she would call the look in his eyes relief, but it was something closely related. “Come on.” He stepped back and offered a hand to help her up. “Where’s Ramin?”

“Vent,” Jyn said, jerking her chin upwards, where Ramin’s head was poking out of the air vent once more. She blinked several times. “You’re here.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalance, but he lowered his head too quickly and looked embarrassed. “I…I don’t like being called a coward.”

Her smile was genuine and soft. “Neither do I.”

Peshk nodded, offering a barely there smile in turn. “What do we do now?”

“I’ll go find Nen,” she said, glancing at Ramin. “You two get to the communications hub.”

“Eighty-eighth floor,” he reminded her. Jyn nodded. He shimmied a little further out of the air duct, pointing to a stack of boxes. “Use those, Peshk.”

The Bothan paused before doing so, turning to her and offering his blaster. “You’ll need this.”

A punch to the gut would’ve been kinder, for how breathless the gesture made her. Echoes upon echoes. Worse yet, she found herself touched by the offering. If she got out of this, if they found a body for K-2SO—she’d never thought her heart would be so twisted by a droid.

“Thank you,” Jyn murmured, trying to hide just how much it meant. If Peshk noticed, he didn’t ask, a small mercy. She swallowed and straightened. “You need to go.”

He nodded, determination entering his eyes, burning bright as a fire. “Then let’s go.”

He climbed the stacked boxes Ramin had indicated with remarkable ease, disappearing from sight between one blink and the next. As he crawled away, his movements becoming lighter as he adjusted, Ramin poked his head through the air vent once more.

There were promises Alliance members never made. To come back injury free was ridiculous, given how frequently they were in blaster fights. Nobody ever promised to see a person soon, except for maybe Han Solo, who had never fully taken to the unspoken code. And the most sacred, the step above seeing one soon, to return home. Come back.

Ramin broke all three.

“Be safe, all right?” He nodded, but it was only to coax her into mimicking him. “Go find Nen and get to the eighty-eighth floor. Communications hub should be the big doors when you step off the elevator. If it’s not right there, it’s close.” He met her eyes. “We’ll see you soon. Both of you. And then we’re getting the hell of this rock and going home.”

The worst part about him breaking those rules was how badly she believed in what he offered.

“See you soon,” she said, against her better judgement. Ramin nodded, knowing the cost of those words as well as she did, and then he was gone, swallowed by the dark air vents.

Jyn stepped over the troopers body. If Peshk had gotten into this room, then there was a good chance nobody else was in the office. She kept her blaster raised as she opened the door into the main office anyway, though just as she suspected, it was empty. There wasn’t time to explore the Warden’s office, or to investigate the other room attached to the office. His quarters, more than likely. Was he hiding inside? Or still out trying to round up prisoners?

 _Now’s not the time_ , His voice snapped, bringing her to attention once more.

Would there ever be a time?

If this plan worked, and they got the intel to the Alliance and managed to take down another Death Star, and if he was still living after all of that, she would hunt him down, and kill him for everyone who’d been imprisoned on Wobani. It wouldn’t sit well in her soul, but she would do it. Sacrifice that small part of her one more time, so everyone who escaped could feel just a little safer.

Jyn walked into the corridor, only to be promptly slammed against a wall.

The prisoners had come back to the upper levels.

There wasn’t a torrent of them, not as there’d been when the doors had first opened, but brawls were all across the landings, and every few seconds somebody screamed, prisoner and trooper alike, as someone was pitched over the railings.

This was exactly the direction she’d hoped things wouldn’t turn.

Was Nen where they’d told her to be? There wasn’t time to search for her if she wasn’t, no guarantee that she was alive or dead. Jyn forced her way through the crowd, ducking fists and dodging kicks, throwing every hope she had to the Force that Nen would be there when she got there.

They’d agreed to meet in a storage closet not far from the elevators on the same floor as the Warden’s office. It’d been where Ramin had stashed the charges, and with any luck, Nen would’ve been there, waiting on her. If she wasn’t, she’d only spare a few minutes before leaving again.

She hoped Nen was.

The worst part was that she knew He would never leave her behind, even on the few missions when He should’ve. He’d always come back, found her in the mud and blood and grime, and even if she couldn’t move her legs, He’d helped her get back and brought her home.

If Nen wasn’t there, if she one day got the chance to tell him this story, would he judge her just for that? Accuse her of cowardice and hypocrisy, the girl who was terrified of being left leaving another being behind.

She hoped Nen was there.

But when she finally found the room and opened the door, she found it empty.

Jyn swore and ducked inside. She’d asked too much of the Force, begged for too many small miracles that somebody like her—somebody who’d already cheated death—didn’t deserve. There wasn’t even time to spare to wait for Nen, just two minutes, and even that was pushing it. Any other commander would be moving on already, two minutes be damned, but she’d had to be partnered with Him, learned to care because of Him, formed ideals because of Him.

She scowled as she counted out every second of the two minutes, and when she hit a second past, she swore and kicked the wall. There was already so much she’d have to ask Him to forgive her for, so much He probably wouldn’t forgive. What was one more sin?

Jyn slapped the button to the door. It was years of training and Saw’s random, crazed screams that were meant to keep them on their toes that kept her from jumping as a body was shoved over the railing, followed by a small, furry brown body watching it pitch over.

Nen didn’t have similar training, and jumped when she turned to find Jyn standing in the doorway.

“He deserved that,” she said hurriedly. “He was a—a no-good, laser-faced Jabba scoundrel.”

“Of course,” Jyn agreed magnanimously, ignoring how strongly she wanted to reach over and hug the Bothan. How her chest still felt hollow for considering leaving. “You’re late.”

“There was a bit of a frenzy, after the blast.”

Jyn nodded in understanding. It was a simple error they really should’ve planned for, but apparently hadn’t. She felt stupid for not. “We have to go. This way.”

They waited for a group of troopers to run past before stepping out of the closet and hurrying over to the elevator. She hoped they hadn’t been shut down, or the one that slid open had troopers or prisoners inside. The button lit up when she pressed it, and as they waited, they stood back to back, prepared to shoot any being that stepped into the corridor.

Luck or the Force, it seemed, was finally on their side, because the doors opened and they were inside without anyone paying them any heed.

“I didn’t think it’d be this chaotic,” Nen admitted once the doors had shut and the elevator began traveling upward.

Jyn snorted. “I know some rebels that’ll hear this story and think it tame.”

Nen laughed, a light, high sound. Innocent and young as she was. She fiddled with her hands, twisting them this way and that as if summoning courage. After a few moments, found it. “Will you tell him?”

“Who? Ramin?”

“No. Him.”

Jyn glanced down, a warmth spreading across her cheek and neck. That always happened when she came close to thinking of Him. The sun that didn't exist on Wobani would burst from within her, and it was warm and gentle and loving, a lover’s caress, and she’d silently think of all the places He’d touched or kissed her, which was very nearly every spot on her body.

Could she even tell Him about this? She’d want to with every breath. But wanting was different than being able to. Whatever plan they were formulating that centered around this data, she knew she couldn't tell Him before the Alliance acted. It was sensitive enough that she’d broken His heart so He wouldn’t look for her, a decision she was hating more with each passing second.

If she told Him before anything happened, He’d be irritated with her for not following the rules and risking Alliance security, even though she knew He’d never say anything. If she didn’t, He’d think she’d left and come back because the universe was harsh.

But after?

Would He say she was lying and making up stories? Would He read her report and know what she said was true, but still deny her forgiveness? It was possible. He wasn’t the type to forgive just because it was sought, and she’d hurt Him enough that begging on her knees likely wouldn’t sway him.

It was all entirely dependent on her living, too, an already unlikely end, and one she now wasn’t even sure she wanted. “I don’t think I can,” she admitted. “I don’t think he’d want me to. He’s particular about confidentiality.”

Nen crossed her arms. “You’re very negative about him,” she noted. “It’s always ‘no, Nen, he doesn’t love me,’ or ‘it’s the Alliance over me.’”

“It _was_ the Alliance over me,” Jyn groused, then remembered herself. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t trust him.”

At that, Jyn spared the other woman a glance. “With my life,” she said seriously.

“But not with your heart.”

“Hard to do that in the middle of a war.”

Nen shrugged. “We risk our lives by the minute. Why not reap some reward?”

“What happened to the quiet bothan?”

“I’ve always been like this,” she said. “It’s just hard to be yourself in the middle of a prison.”

A sudden laugh burst from Jyn. “Fair point.”

“I think he’d call you a hero,” Nen mused. “He’d call you his.”

Hope cuddled against Jyn like He had on Hoth, secure arms and entwined legs and a warm torso against her. She could practically feel it now, even down to His cheek pressing into the crown of her head.

Jyn shook herself, brushing the memory along with it. A chill spread over her, from the top of her head down. “He wouldn’t. Maybe the hero part, but not his. Never that.”

_It’s okay. I’ve got you._

Nen snorted, sparing Jyn from having to. “When we get out of here, I want to meet him.”

“I already told you he’d like to meet you, along with the rest of them.”

“You’ll introduce me?”

Jyn shrugged, the cold spreading further. “Someone will.”

“But not you,” Nen said, tapping her foot, “because you’re negative about him.”

Jyn glared, focusing on the door in front of her, willing the elevator to rise faster so there’d be something else to do, an out from the conversation. The elevator didn’t rise faster, and the door offered nothing.

“It’s more complicated than that,” she settled on.

Nen rolled her eyes, then gestured towards nothing in particular. “All of this, it’s for all of them?”

“Yes.”

“And you think that whatever you’ve done, they won’t be able to overlook it, even after all of this?”

Jyn frowned and looked away. “Like I said, it’s more complicated than that.”

“But this is all for them,” Nen said. “You’re doing this because you want what’s best for them.”

“More than anything,” she agreed.

“Then you need to trust that they’ll forgive you for what you’ve done. Thinking they won’t—you can’t think like that,” Nen said. “You’ll destroy yourself.”

“That’s not hard,” Jyn muttered. “I’m the destroyer of lives.”

The elevator slowed. Jyn glanced at the floor indicator, and felt the world sway beneath her feet. It had nothing to do with the metal box they were currently in.

The elevator was stopping, six floors below the one they needed.

Nen lurched for the control pad as Jyn pulled her blaster, shooting the two stormtroopers the elevator doors revealed as they slid open. They fell before Jyn and Nen were fully exposed, and then shutting again, sealing them back inside. The elevator started to rise again, but both women remained still, digesting what had just happened. Jyn wondered if later that moment would still feel like a dream, and if anyone would believe that it wasn’t.

The elevator jolted, and they started moving again. Even if the troopers hadn’t had even a moment to process their presence, the blaster bolts had still been loud, and Jyn didn’t doubt their location was now known. She went for the control panel, yanking it off and tugging at wires until the elevator stopped, casting them in a red glow.

For a second, the elevator was quiet, and then there was a loud smack against the door.

“The roof,” Jyn said, snapping into action once more and going towards the corner. “We’ll have to get into the vents.”

Nen nodded, but she yanked Jyn sideways, and before she could understand what was happening, the Bothan woman’s arms were around her, a tight hug that Baze would be hard pressed to beat.

“You first,” Nen whispered, then shoved Jyn slightly away, bending her knees and cupping her hands so Jyn could step on them.

Jyn frowned, but focused on stepping in Nen's palms and bracing herself on the wall. The ceilings of the elevator were rather low, something she was immensely grateful for, because she was short and Nen was shorter. She managed to press a panel up and away, then grip the side and force her way onto the roof.

Jyn turned and leaned over, one arm outstretched for Nen. She batted it away.

“They’ll forget about you if they have me,” she said. “Finish it.”

Then she smiled and slipped a pill into her mouth.

Jyn’s hand flew to her collar and found the tear where her lullaby should’ve been as Nen began shuddering below her. She nearly tumbled out of the hatch, but the Bothan looked up, her pained eyes focusing on Jyn, and forced her trembling head to give one firm shake.

_It’s okay, Jyn. You’re okay._

“No!” she shrieked, her body rooted in place as Nen’s twitched and frothed. “No, no, no!”

Jyn shoved her hands against her eyes and took in a breath. The banging was getting louder, the doors dented but not yet containing a gap. She had to move.

She let the breath leave her, then did. She slipped the panel back into place then looked up. The cables went up, up, up, and she didn’t know if Wobani was taller than she’d imagined or if they were farther down than she'd known, but it looked like too much to cross.

She set her jaw. She could think about the risk of it later. Right now, she needed to act. With nobody there to see, Jyn stepped as close to the edge as possible, then took two bounding steps over the top of the elevator, and leapt.

The free fall sent everything to her throat. She tried not to think about the black stretching below her, how her target was only a few shades lighter than the walls surrounding it. Tried to make herself enjoy it, her hair starting to rise above her face, her jacket twisting upwards. Under the right circumstances—more correctly, safe circumstances—she could probably even love it.

The wall was there quicker than she expected. She tried not to gasp as she slammed into it and caught herself.

 _It’s all right_.

She took a quick breath, then another. There wasn’t time to pause or analyze the pain. She forced herself up one peg, then another, different spots of her body screaming at different levels with every movement. Later, she’d figure out what was and wasn’t wrong, but for now, it could wait.

Nen was gone.

There hadn’t been time for a miraculous last minute save, or even a word to stop it. Just a choice with consequences. In her mouth in the blink of an eye, acting immediately after. She’d wanted to introduce her to Him, Them. They would’ve loved her.

Below her, the elevator rocked, muffled shouts echoing out of it. Jyn swallowed, and forced herself to move even faster.

There was an opening not too far above her, what looked like a little yellow square next to it. If her eyes weren’t deceiving her, then that’d be an air vent, and all she’d have to do was hope she took the right turns to find the communication hub. Ramin had said it was one of the spots all the air ducts connected and split off again, so with any luck, it’d be easy to find.

The elevator jostled and a loud bang echoed through the chute. Jyn glanced down, then back at the wire, climbing even faster. If they didn’t open the hatch immediately, she’d be okay. Five feet, then four to the opening she needed. Three, two.

One.

The hatched slipped off the roof of the elevator as Jyn threw herself into the opening, her hands pressed tight over her mouth. _You’re going to be okay,_ his voice said, and for one moment she found herself believing it.

“Nothing up here,” a trooper said, sliding the hatch back into place. “Must’ve only been this one.”

Jyn could’ve done any number of things int that moment. She could’ve laughed, the crazed kind, that doesn’t stop for minutes on end, that’s loud and wheezy and drawn from somewhere deep and true and happy. She could’ve cried, and they would’ve been happy tears that made her throat clog up and her nose run. She could’ve screamed, tried to scare off the weight bearing down on her shoulders.

She didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she took a breath and, for the first time since returning to Wobani, allowed herself to think of Cassian.

Everything hit her in a rush. His smile and eyes, soft and adoring and softer still when they were alone. His voice and its smooth melody when he slipped into Festian. The way he walked that had people stepping quickly out of his way but never imposing enough to be rude. His witty humor that’d come out when it was least expected. The way he held her in the day and the way he held her at night, always close and tight like she'd slip away, but different. Reassuring during the day and exploring at night.

Did he miss her as she missed him? Wholly, achingly? Did he wonder where she was, if she was safe? Had he sliced her files looking for answers? Had he found the truth and devised a plan to find her? And how was he coping? Did he still smile when someone made a joke? Did he laugh when it caught him off guard? He’d gotten better about it in the years after Scarif, the mask a little less rigid, the real Cassian peaking through the cracks more and more. It was only around people he trusted, but it was still something. She’d always thought that in other circumstances he would’ve been bright and funny, more like Joreth or Cassein. She didn’t want him any other way, but it was not hard to imagine a different life for him, one that was less sorrowful and hard.

_Soon. We’ll be there soon._

Jyn twisted onto her stomach and began crawling through the opening. It was small and cramped, but light filtered in and led her path. Soon. They’d have a chance of ending everything soon and then his life would be different. All of their lives would be different. Better.

She crawled onward, stopping occasionally to look for the communications hub, trying to keep her movements quiet, skirting and ducking around wires as needed. Her mind was elsewhere, a possibility settling in like moss on a stone.

Would she live to join them again?

She’d known when Draven and Mothma had sat her down that dying was a strong possibility. It was why she’d asked them to seal her file going forward, and why she’d broken his heart. If he knew she’d gone for the Alliance, he would’ve been angry. If she died, he wouldn’t move on.

Cassian didn’t know how close to peace he was; she was not going to let anything, even herself, take it from him. So she’d shifted his focus, broken his heart, directed his hatred towards her.She’d made herself a lightning rod and begged to be struck time and again. She didn’t know how many times he’d struck it, didn’t know if he did it still months later. She assumed he did. It didn’t matter. As long as he hated her, he’d find a way to move on.

She hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jyn nearly missed the communications hub, halfway past it before she saw Ramin’s wild curls. She opened the vent, pulling back slightly when he and Peshk immediately turned and pointed blasters at her. They lowered them and smiled when they noticed it was her.

“Come on,” Ramin said, climbing on top of one of the data pillars and offering his hand to her. Jyn took it, careful to not let herself drop. She was so close. She didn’t need to mess up by falling over the edge.

Peshk watched them as she clambered down, then looked up again towards the opening, waiting.

Waiting for Nen.

Jyn waited for him to look at her, then shook her head softly.

Peshk took in a sharp, shaky breath, his eyes shining bright with grief. If she’d known what to say, she would’ve said it, though it wouldn’t have helped. Sadness was easy to chase away, and heartache able to be soothed, but grief was more than either of those, a current so strong that sometimes it was easier to call the emotion unnameable than call it what it was. He spared her from having to try, jerking his head once and turning towards the comm unit.

“Here,” she said, stepping forward before he was fully turned away, pulling the small chip from her pocket. “You should be the one to upload them.”

Peshk stared at her for a moment, then plucked it from her palm with a grateful nod.

Ramin cleared his throat, and gestured to a console a few feet from her. “That’s the one to enter the code.”

Jyn nodded and hurried over, her fingers running over the dashboard, a row of lights coming to life, blinking patiently at her. She smiled.

When they'd been going over the mission, Draven and Mothma had wanted her to send it to one of them, and she understood the logic. The less people the information could potentially cross, the better. But learning a new code in a short amount of time was a risk, and given there'd been no estimate for how long the mission would take, the chances of her misremembering were high.

She'd picked the next best option: Kay.

They hadn't found a replacement unit for him since Scarif, but Cassian had still drilled it into her in case something happened where he wouldn't be able to send it to Draven directly. They kept the codes for droids active even if they weren't operational and routed any information to the droid bay where it could be gathered and passed along.

When she got back, she was going to find every Imperial droid factory she could, and find him a new body.

They stood in silence as Peshk’s console blinked and beeped. He announced every time five percent had been uploaded, and as the number climbed higher and higher, Jyn’s anticipation rose in her throat. She glanced at Ramin, who looked similarly overcome.

It’d taken so long to get here. If the Empire had its say, they would’ve only counted four years, from the first stolen plans to these. But it’d been longer than that for so many, it was hard to believe that the end wasn’t an impossible dream anymore. That it was quickly becoming a possibility, a reality.

The next trick would be to win it.

Peshk’s console chirped as the upload completed. He gave a soft whoop, which turned into a laugh when Ramin gave a louder one. Jyn bounced forward on her feet and gave a quick, disbelieving, relieved laugh. She turned to her console, fingers flying fast, hitting the smooth planes of the dashboard before finding the appropriate buttons.

“Transmitting now,” she said, grinning at them. They grinned back, crowding closer to watch the bar increase.

Was anyone in the droid bay now, watching as information filtered into Kay’s codes? Had one of the ones in the know already called for Draven and Mothma? She laughed softly as she imagined Draven standing in the droid bay, bouncing on his feet in anticipation.

“Eighty,” Peshk said, even though they were all there. It felt right, to hear him say it. “Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty—”

The doors to the hub opened, and the Warden and several stormtroopers stormed in.

Everybody froze. They hadn’t been expecting to find anyone in here, just as the three of them hadn’t anticipated them entering the room. The recovery was quick, though, everybody moving at once to grab their blasters.

“Well,” the Warden drawled, the only one who hadn’t bothered to draw a blaster. “What do we have here?”

Jyn, Peshk, and Ramin remained silent.

It wasn’t a small room by any means, but it was narrow, never fully spreading out because of the data pillars and machines powering the transmitter. The row of consoles in front of them offered some protection from the waist down, a small edge they had over the troopers, who only had each other to use as shields. Even so, Jyn was still hyperaware of how crowded the three of them were.

“Please, relax,” the Warden said, gesturing with his hands to lower the blasters. Nobody did, not even the stormtroopers. “I assume you three are to thank for the mayhem in my prison?” He took a lazy step forward, craning his neck. Even thirty feet away, the move still unsettled her and Peshk, and they both shifted further in front of the screen. “But what could be so important for so much destruction? It must be something good.” He smiled. “Why don’t I take a look? I’ll let you see your dead friend in return.”

The console behind them chirped. Peshk gave a sudden loud shout, and shot the Warden. He dropped, hitting the metal flooring with a solid thunk, and did not rise. The rest of the room erupted.

Shots fired everywhere, a volley back and forth hitting metal and armor alike. In the middle of Ramin and Peshk, Jyn realized they were too easy a target, so she shoved her hips into theirs and kicked delicately at their shins until they took the hint and stepped away from her. Stormtroopers fell, and Jyn heard Peshk hiss as a bolt grazed his shoulder.

“Jyn!” Ramin shouted. “Shoot the console! We’ll worry about the troopers!”

She nodded, though he probably wasn’t paying close enough attention to see it. A few taps and the data chip was in her fingers again, a heavy burden for something smaller than her thumb. Once it was in her pocket, she opened fire on the console, taking care to shoot the keypad more than any other spot, so there’d be no telling what numbers had been pressed and Kay’s codes couldn’t be traced. When she looked up, the stormtroopers and Warden were on the ground, and Ramin had a gash on his side as bad as Peshk’s. He didn’t pay it any heed.

“We have to go,” Ramin said. “This way.”

They followed him over the corpses back into the hallway, then left to a small door that opened into a small ladder shaft. Jyn’s heart slammed into her throat at the similarities of it all.

Peshk went first, and once he was high enough, Ramin followed. Jyn waited as Ramin climbed, glancing into the corridor again. She could still hear the bellows of the inmates down below, the cacophony of the brawl something she was intimately familiar with. She nodded once, an unemotional goodbye, and turned to climb—only to gasp as she was tugged backwards, something near her neck snapping.

Jyn threw an elbow back, then her foot just as hard. When she turned, her assailant, the Warden, was heaving against the railings.

He was dressed all in black, but she thought of the man in white on the tower on Scarif. How he’d been crumpled but not dead, how hate surged through her as she tried to go towards him, but Cassian held her back. She felt that hate again, for both the Warden and the man in white. Cassian wasn’t here to stop her now.

Jyn raised her blaster, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Nobody would know. Nobody but the dead.

Nobody but Nen.

 _Let’s go_ , Cassian said, distant. _We have to hurry_.

Jyn lowered her blaster. They’d done enough damage to the Warden. The other inmates could have their way with him.

“You bitch,” the Warden snarled. Blood dribbled into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. “What have you done?”

 _You’re doing well, Jyn_.

“I won.”

She shot him once more, a gut shot that stained his stomach almost instantly. The Warden wheezed, then dropped. Jyn turned back to the ladder, and climbed.

Her arms screamed as she did so, her legs complaining just as loud. She couldn’t wait for the sith-forsaken ship, to collapse onto a bench and not move. She forced herself higher and faster, imagining the hard durasteel of the ship, just as open to falling asleep against it as a cot. Anything, really, as long as it brought her closer to the Alliance, and to Cassian.

A smile stretched across her face at the thought of him, genuine and happy. Maybe it didn’t matter how he’d react to seeing her again. Maybe seeing him was all she really needed. Maybe—

Her foot slipped, her body lurching down, chin bouncing off a bar. She blinked, then blinked again, reorienting herself.

“Ow,” Jyn groaned. Above her, Ramin gave a light, breezy laugh. Jyn sneered and forced her hands to keep clawing. She had to keep going. She refused to have ‘ow’ be her last word.

Above her, Ramin disappeared into the hole Peshk had slipped into. It wasn’t much farther. She smiled to herself, knowing she was almost at the end. It was enough to start kicking up a second wind, climbing faster and faster, closer and closer.

Something landed on her, so sudden and unexpected it halted her rhythm. Jyn frowned and looked up, just in time to be hit in the face once more.

Rain?

She glanced up. Ramin’s head poked out of a hole above her.

“Jyn!” he shouted. “Come on!”

_Hang in there._

She forced herself up one prong, then another, her body suddenly feeling sluggish, the adrenaline almost entirely gone. Thoughts she’d shoved away crept at the edges of her mind like mist creeping onto a field.

They’d been on a mission when she’d left. Recon, specifically designed to give her plenty of opportunities to sneak away. She’d broken Cassian’s heart the night before they left. He hadn’t been able to look in her general direction the entire flight, and when they split off into pairs, he took Chirrut while she went with Baze.

The plan had been to get separated from him during a skirmish, but Baze had tugged her into an alley before anything could even start and said, “I hope you have a good reason.”

She’d wanted to list a million reasons in that moment, each one better than the last, but she hadn’t. They hadn’t mattered, not as much as what Baze’s words had meant.

He’d known. He’d known, and he hadn’t blamed her, hadn’t hated her.

If Cassian knew, he wouldn’t hate her.

“Jyn?” she glanced up, and now it was Cassian above her, reaching for her. He smiled and it was like daybreak; slow to spread, but bright and joyous. She wanted to bask in it forever. “Jyn, come on. Keep fighting.”

She had to get to him, had to tell him, had to make him smile again. Her legs felt weighted though, the gap between the bars too much to cross. The world rattled, like a shockwave hitting the ground.

“You have to keep fighting,” Cassian said, the smile fading a little, more desperate and concerned. His arm stretched towards her. “Almost there. You’re doing great.”

Was she? Everything felt heavy. She was still so far from him. But she had to tell him, had to make him understand. Had to make him forgive her, love her, trust her.

_What’s the point?_

Jyn sagged against the ladder.

He would begrudgingly understand, but nothing else. There would be no forgiveness, no love, no trust. Even if she knew every word in the galaxy, it wouldn’t be enough for her to repair what she’d broken.

_I left so you wouldn’t have to bear it. I hurt you so you wouldn’t tear yourself apart when you found out. I went back so you wouldn’t lose hope._

She had plenty of reasons; if she thought about it, she probably had one for every day she’d been alive. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, the reasons didn’t matter. She’d destroyed him, and told herself she was protecting him.

_I risked death so you could see the end._

“Jyn?”

She looked up, but he was gone. She was alone.

What was the point? He was the point. He was the point, and Bodhi was the point, and Baze and Chirrut and Kay were the point. The end of the war was the point. A chance for peace was the point. Their lives, their happiness, their future—with or without her—that had always been the point. They were always the point.

The little bit of hope she’d had of going home disintegrated, leaving her heart hollow.

“Jyn,” Cassian whispered, and even though he wasn’t there she could feel his lips at her temple and his fingers on her cheek, pressing into her the way they had a thousand times before. He’d known, without her ever voicing it, that those were her favorite reminders that he was with her. Soft, gentle, steady. At the time, it’d told her he loved her. Now, it was a reminder that he’d loved her once. “Come back. Please don’t go.”

It was pointless. She let go of the ladder, already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the Bothan and Death Star references don’t count for the Return of the Jedi reference. But if you’ve made it here… you probably noticed that one. Maybe I’ll dedicate a story to the person who finds them all? Or the most, because some of them are really, really obscure. The Spaceballs reference is literally two words, that's it. In my heart, it still counts.
> 
> So I wanted Jyn thinking Cassian’s name again to be this big moment, but I wanted him to be with her there throughout as well, which lead to the capitalization of He/Him. I’m curious if it worked for all of you or not, because part of me thinks it does narratively, and the non-religious other part of me really, really hates it.
> 
> I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but I hope it was worth the wait and you all enjoyed it. I look forward to all of your comments, and thank you so much for taking the time to read this! :)


End file.
